Crazy about Cameron: The Winslow Brothers #3(17)

“Fuck!” he yelled in the shower, pounding his fist against the tile wall.

Cameron didn’t need this. Didn’t want this. Didn’t want to be distracted by Margaret f*cking Story when he needed to work tonight, when he needed to work every night, every minute of the goddamned day. He didn’t have time to be thinking about her, to be distracted by recent memories of her deep brown eyes looking into his, her lips sighing over a bottle of wine, the softness of her thumb under the pad of his finger, the way she’d looked at him while Olson held on to her arm in the lobby, the way her nipples had pebbled under her flimsy blue blouse, the way her cheeks had flushed and— Fuck.

Stop f*cking thinking about her.

Except he couldn’t stop. He hadn’t been able to stop since Tuesday night. It was like Margaret Story, who had always been a tiny orange ember deep inside him, had suddenly erupted into a crackling blue flame, consuming every other thought he dared to have, and replacing it with a ceaseless longing to think about her instead.

And he wanted her.

Fuck, he wanted her so bad, his cock twitched, thickening as he imagined freeing her dark hair from its bun, taking off her glasses, and pushing her against the nearest wall. He’d snap the buttons off her blouse as he tore it open, plunging his hands into her bra until her nipples indented the skin of his palms. She’d hike up her skirt and pull down her panties just enough that he could bury his cock so deep inside her, he couldn’t tell where he ended and she began.

“Ahhh,” he grunted, coming against the shower wall as his fantasy carried him away. He rested his forehead against the warm tile and closed his eyes.

This had to stop.

He couldn’t live like this.

A swift memory of Olson’s hand on her elbow made him grimace as he turned his face into the shower. She didn’t belong to him, so why did he feel like he was on the verge of losing her? And why did it feel so goddamned awful?

“I don’t lose,” he growled, squeezing shampoo into his hand and scrubbing mercilessly at his hair. Backing up into the hot spray, he let the water beat down on his head until little white bubbles sluiced down his muscular legs and into the drain. Bracing his hands flat on the wall in front of him, he repeated, “I don’t lose. Not in business. Not in life.”

And yet Cameron’s sad reality was that he was, in fact, losing at both. And he had a feeling that if the two somehow got tangled together, it would only get worse.

He’d been testing and teasing Margaret for years, but lately he’d had a funny feeling that if he reached for her, she wouldn’t pull away. And that single thought tormented him almost more than any other. Because she felt available to him for this split second of time, and this split second just happened to be the wrong second for his life.

Realistically speaking, if he got involved with Margaret, the time he needed to spend keeping his business afloat would go to her, and any chance of salvaging C & C Winslow would evaporate.

On the flip side, he knew he’d let her down, destroying things between them before they could even find their footing. No matter how much he wanted to see her, he’d postpone a date when he got tied up in a conference call. He’d cancel dinner because he wasn’t finished with a client’s M&A agreement. He’d promise to show up at her beloved vineyard and never make it out there because one call turned into five.

And each time, it would pick away at whatever they were trying to build. Eventually, she’d hate him, and he’d lose her.

And the only thing worse than not having Margaret Story at all would be having a chance with her before losing her forever.

He turned off the water, stepped out of the shower, and wrapped his body in an oversize towel. A puff of thick steam followed him into his bedroom as he grabbed some sweats and a clean T-shirt from his bureau and quickly changed.

He was just about to grab a beer from the fridge when he heard the buzz of his phone and turned to see who it was. He had a mountain of paperwork to sift through tonight. He didn’t have time to catch up with— Jessica.

His little sister.

He immediately pressed Talk.

“Jess?”

“C-C-Cam?” she sobbed.

He clenched his fist as fear made his blood run cold. “Are you okay? Jessica, tell me you’re okay.” Right. Fucking. Now.

“I’m o-okay.”

He relaxed only a little as every protective instinct rose to the surface, ready to beat the shit out of Jessica’s fiancé, and Cameron’s good friend, Alex English, if he had anything to do with the reason Jessica was in tears.

“What happened? Is it Alex?”

Please tell me it’s Alex. I’m in the mood to f*ck someone up.

“A-Alex? No! Alex is f-fine.”

“Then Christ, Jess! Tell me why you’re crying. You’re scaring me to death! What the f*ck is going on?”

“C-Cameron,” she hiccupped, “you’re not very nice when you’re w-worried.”

Cameron took a deep breath and counted to five in his head. And this was yet another reason he should stay away from Margaret Story. When he cared for someone, he couldn’t bear to see them upset or in pain or unhappy in any way. And his drama queen of a youngest sibling kept him busy enough. He didn’t need to add another woman to the pile.

“Jessica Fairchild Winslow, you are taxing my patience . . . but I am calm now. So, tell me, why are you crying?” he asked in a tightly controlled voice.