Crazy about Cameron: The Winslow Brothers #3(33)

“I can’t help wanting you,” he murmured against her neck, his hot breath fanning her pulse. She could hear it beating in her ears and was sure he could feel it against his lips.

“I like it that you want me,” she confessed, her fingers playing lightly in his hair as their chests crashed into each other with every drawn breath.

“But I’ll ruin this,” he said softly, bending his head to rest his forehead on her shoulder. “I’ll ruin this if we don’t stop.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t have the time right now. And without it, I’ll lose you. And you’re . . . too fine for me to play with or to risk.” His breath was hot on her shoulder, branding her as he continued close to her ear, “You have to understand. When I come for you, there’ll be no half measures, Meggie. When I come for you, I’ll be coming with everything I’ve got.”

She was aroused and frustrated, riveted by the fierce promise embedded in his words.

“I wish my life was simpler right now,” he said, raising his head to look at her, caressing her face with his eyes.

She gulped softly, willing away the tears that brightened her eyes. “I understand.”

Placing her hands on his shoulders, she lifted herself off his lap and stepped away from him, smoothing her skirt back down. She took her napkin and wiped the remaining wetness from her cheeks before putting her glasses back on. His rejection hurt, though she felt his longing for her, and that offered a bit of hope and solace.

He stood up behind her and cleared his throat, prompting her to turn around. His eyes were dark and wide, infused with a vulnerability that did something extreme to her heart—it made her want to protect him and do what was best for him, and be whatever he needed her to be . . . now, tomorrow, for the rest of her life.

“Meggie,” he said, gulping softly, “if you asked me to be with you, I wouldn’t be able to say no.”

She had already learned this about him: that when he cared for someone, he couldn’t refuse them. Not when his brother abandoned their company to run for office, nor when his sister needed a last-minute venue for her wedding. That over the past few weeks he’d added her to that list was so beautiful, it was almost painful, and the responsibility not to mistreat his feelings for her was as overwhelming as it was unthinkable. She wanted him very badly, yes, but not at the cost of his conscience.

“Shall we forget it happened?” she asked.

He shook his head, hazarding a small grin. “Impossible. I’ll be living on it for a while.”

“Sorry for getting so emotional,” she said, trying to resist the melancholy that threatened to overtake her as he prepared to go.

He reached out and cupped her cheek gently. “We’ve become friends, Meggie. There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

“Friends,” she said, the word feeling flat and awful after the kiss they’d just shared.

“For now,” he said, with burning eyes, bending down to kiss her forehead and leaving without saying goodbye.





Chapter 8


Margaret resented the Saturday nights she had to stay in Philadelphia, but she was surprised by how irritated Geraldo had seemed by her text that she would be in Philly all day Saturday and that he wouldn’t be able to get into her apartment to work until Sunday. As she walked to work on Friday morning, she stared again at his message: I NEED to work Sat. How else I can finish the project?!?!?!

Margaret straightened her spine and wrote back: I’m sorry, but I’ll be home on Saturday. You may work on Sunday.

Her phone buzzed immediately:

I just work a little on Sat.

She widened her eyes at his pushiness. She didn’t want to wake up to Geraldo banging away in her kitchen. Her plan was to sleep in, meet Priscilla for brunch at noon, have their hair and nails done together for the gala tomorrow night, and be ready to go when Shane picked them up. Not that Shane knew that Pris would now be joining them, but something told Margaret that he wouldn’t mind.

Her fingers typed swiftly:

No, you won’t. You may work on Sunday, Geraldo, not Saturday. That’s final.

As she turned onto the street where the offices of Story Imports were located, her phone buzzed again: U messing up my schedule, lady.

“Huh!” she exclaimed.

As long as we’re being frank, you’re messing up my schedule too. I was quite certain you’d be more than halfway done by now, and you’ve barely completed the demolition. If you want to quit the job, please say so, and I will find someone else to take over. Otherwise you are welcome to continue your work on Sunday and not before.

A moment later, she received the text:

Fine. I b there Sunday.

She nodded at her phone, feeling satisfied, and tucked it into the outside pocket of her purse as she entered the elevator. Thus empowered, she decided it was also time to tackle another difficult male in her life, so instead of sitting down at her cubicle desk outside her father’s office, she marched into the sanctum sanctorum and crossed her arms over her chest as her father’s surprised, disapproving eyes slammed into hers.

“Good morning, Margaret.”

“Good morning, Father.”

She pulled out a chair from in front of his desk and sat down, her posture ramrod straight.

“Please, sit,” he said sarcastically.