Crazy about Cameron: The Winslow Brothers #3(30)

“Fine,” she said. “We’re over the worst of it.”

“Still complicated?”

She knew what he was asking. He was asking her if she and Shane still had unresolved romantic business, and though it wasn’t in Margaret’s nature to be willfully deceptive, she liked Cameron’s jealousy, so she decided not to answer his question directly.

“My father adores Shane.”

“And would adore having Shane for a son-in-law.”

Margaret nodded. It was the truth, wasn’t it?

“But how does Meggie feel about Olson?” He had to drop her hand to push open the door to their apartment building, but grabbed it again as soon as they were inside. “Your place or mine?”

“Mine.”

“Probably a good idea. Huicho said he needed one more week to finish, which means my bathroom’s still a bit of a wreck.”

“Wow! It’s almost done?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Close to it.”

Hmm. In comparison, her project was going as slow as molasses. It had taken three weekends for Geraldo to finish the demolition when she had assumed it would take only one. And he hadn’t even started framing the closet yet. Her future wine cellar was just an ugly, gaping hole in the corner of her kitchen.

“Miss Story!” called Franklin from the concierge desk. “You got that Saturday FedEx?”

“I’m sorry?”

“The package that came on Saturday. You got it?”

“No.” She shrugged. “But I wasn’t expecting anything.”

Franklin furrowed his brows together. “Huh, I thought it was for you, but maybe I’m remembering wrong. I’ll take a look at the book.”

Margaret grinned at him. “Probably for someone else. I don’t know how you keep track of all of us!”

“Probably.” Franklin nodded and smiled. “Thanks, Miss Story. You have a nice evening.”

Cameron pulled her toward the elevator and pushed the call button.

“You never answered my question,” he said, looking down at her with one raised eyebrow.

“I see Shane every day. He’s a huge asset to Story Imports. He’s . . . a good man.”

“A good man,” scoffed Cameron.

She dropped his hand and crossed her arms over her chest, giving him a censorious look. “Be nice.”

“God, it’s hot when you do that.”

Her eyes widened. “Do what?”

“Christ,” he sighed. “And that.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, feeling her cheeks flush with heat.

“And that.” He stared at her and groaned. “Please stop.”

“I don’t even know what I’m doing,” she said.

“Don’t you?” he asked, his voice low and gravelly.

The elevator doors opened, and she took a step inside, instantly aware of Cameron’s body behind hers—the strength of it, the heat, the raw maleness of him. She didn’t turn around as the doors closed. She could hear the soft sound of her own ragged breathing, feel the raging thunder of her heart. Muscles she hadn’t used in months clenched and released in flutters, wetting her panties, her body so primed for his touch that it would take almost nothing to make her come.

“Just tell me if you’re still with him,” he said, his breath hot on the back of her neck. His lips were so close, she would only have to lean back a little to feel them press against her hot skin.

“Why does it matter?” she whispered.

“It just does.”

She turned around in the tiny space, arching her back to lean against the elevator wall as she faced him. “Why, Cam?”

He grunted softly, his eyes darkening to onyx. “Tell me.”

She deliberately wetted her lips with her tongue, then pursed them together.

His breath hitched and his nostrils flared, so it surprised her when he pressed on with his line of questioning instead of reaching for her. But his voice was strangled as he demanded roughly, “Tell me.”

She stared at his lips as he spoke, then slid her eyes up to his, and all her sassy teasing took flight. The naked longing in his eyes—the pleading hope that struck a chord in her heart because she felt the same emotions coursing through her own body—made it impossible for her to cheapen his question with more flirtation or answer it with anything but honesty.

“Shane and I aren’t together anymore.”

His eyes fluttered with pleasure as he exhaled a long sigh. He opened his green eyes and grinned at her wickedly. “Thank God.”

***

An hour later they were sitting across from each other at Margaret’s dining room table, empty takeout containers between them, but for the one that Margaret held in her hand, eating one grain of rice at a time with wooden chopsticks.

After their charged exchange in the elevator, they’d somehow managed to segue to a pleasant conversation about the various restaurants in the area, and Margaret had schooled him a little on the Cabernet they were drinking. His relief at discovering that she and Olson were over was enormous and palpable, but he still didn’t know what exactly he was going to do about it.

Did he want Margaret? Of course. He’d wanted her for years. And that unintentional sexy-librarian thing she’d been doing in the lobby just about made him attack her in the elevator.