Crazy about Cameron: The Winslow Brothers #3(2)

Five years later, he moved back to Philadelphia for college, like his brothers, but Margaret no longer lived in Philly, and he heard through the grapevine that she was in finishing school in Switzerland, a tradition for the Story sisters. And from what he gathered over the years from mutual friends, she’d stayed abroad, learning about French and Italian wines from old-world masters.

A few months ago, Cameron ran into Margaret again. While he chatted with Alex English in the lobby of his apartment building, Margaret—Alex’s date—suddenly walked back into his life. She’d returned from Europe, finally, and had just moved into the fashionable Newbury Arms. Of all the places in all the world, the little girl whose braids he’d pulled now lived in the apartment directly over his.

And she was stunning. Sophisticated and charming, beautiful and refined, Margaret Story had grown into a modern-day Grace Kelly, complete with an ever-present chignon and elegant taste in clothes. With not a hair out of place and a voice that never raised beyond the honeyed tones of her quiet speaking voice, she was the epitome of grace and refinement.

“May I ask you a question?”

Jolted from his thoughts, he looked up at her. “Why not?”

“Have you ever had any work done on your apartment?”

He shook his head. “Nope.”

She sighed. “Okay. Thanks.”

The elevator stopped, and the door opened to the fourth floor. Mrs. Stewart took her time getting onto the elevator, her two Pekingese dogs yapping unpleasantly. Margaret moved back a little to accommodate the feisty fur balls, and her elbow brushed against Cameron’s forearm. He knew the polite thing to do would be to move back to give her more space in the tiny, old-fashioned elevator, but he didn’t want to. He wanted to touch her, even if it was through layers of raincoat and suit jacket.

“Push the L, huh, love?” asked Mrs. Stewart in her light Scottish brogue.

“We’re going up, Mrs. Stewart,” said Margaret as the doors closed.

“Oh, dear. I want to go down to the lobby.” She reached forward and pushed the button for the fifth floor. “I’ll get off at the next floor instead.”

That strategy made very little sense to Cameron, but he held his tongue, feeling at once annoyed and secretly thrilled to have a little extra time with Margaret’s arm pressed against his. The top of her head, which just reached his shoulder, was so close that if he leaned forward, he could brush her hair with his lips. Anxious to divert himself from such foolish thoughts, he cleared his throat.

“Are you having some work done?”

“I’m thinking about it,” she said, without turning her swanlike neck to face him.

He wanted to know more, but appearing interested would be at odds with his usually insouciant demeanor toward her. The elevator dinged at the fifth floor, and Mrs. Stewart’s Pekingese pups launched through the door, thinking a walk was imminent, and Cameron felt some sympathy for the fifth-floor lobby carpet.

“So I guess that means it’ll be noisy upstairs,” said Cameron.

As the elevator doors closed again, she turned slightly to face him. “I’ll ask Geraldo to work during the day so I don’t inconvenience you.”

“Very considerate. Thanks.”

“However,” she continued, “since you’re rarely home before midnight, and always out of the building by seven in the morning, that leaves him plenty of time.”

This was interesting. She kept tabs on his comings and goings? Why in the world Cameron found this so captivating, he couldn’t put into words, but his cool facade slipped, and he couldn’t resist teasing her just a little.

“You spying on me?”

She took a step away from him, backing toward the doors as her cheeks turned pink. “N-no. I just . . . I mean, I take a run some mornings and see you heading off, and when I come back from . . . I mean, some evenings when I return late, I notice you . . . you . . .”

“You notice me, Meggie,” he rumbled, letting his eyes rest on hers.

“Yes.” She lifted her chin. “Yes, I do. I notice that you don’t say hello. I notice that you wish you were anywhere but trapped in an elevator with me making small talk. I notice that, although you know how much I hate the nickname Meggie, you never miss an opportunity to use it.”

She was magnificent with her flashing light brown eyes and pink, pillowed lips. If she were his, he’d lunge toward her right now. He’d bury his hands in her hair and send her goddamn hairpins to the floor as he pulled her face to his and—

Margaret shook her head in disappointment and turned away from him, as though giving up on his ability to give an appropriate response to her mini tirade.

“Diego gave me the name of his cousin Geraldo,” she said, steering the conversation back to safer waters. “Apparently he does work for other tenants now and then.”

Cameron took a deep breath, wishing away the very vivid images in his head, and heard himself say, “Come to think of it, I do have a project that needs attention. Perhaps I should schedule him too, as long as he’s going to be here in the building.”

She glanced at him over her shoulder. “Oh? I didn’t realize you were considering a renovation.”

“My master bathroom’s too small,” he blurted out.

As she stared at him, her little pink tongue darted out to lick her heavenly lips, and her voice was a little breathier than usual when she finally responded, “Oh, I see.”