Crazy about Cameron: The Winslow Brothers #3(44)

“I want to do this right, Meggie. For the first time in my life, I want to look before I leap. But I want you next to me when I jump.”

“We’ll jump together,” she said.

“Is this happening too fast for you?” He looked at her quickly before turning back to the road. “Us?”

“Us,” she answered, smiling as she half spoke, half breathed the word. “No, it doesn’t feel too fast. It just feels . . . right.”

“Next Saturday,” he said. He turned to her as he pulled up in front of their building and shifted the car into park. “I’ll meet you in the lobby again.”

She leaned toward him and reached for his face. “Pack a bag and plan to stay.”

His body responded to her simple request, his blood coursing to his cock in anticipation of spending the night with her. “Done.”

“Thank you for everything.”

“Don’t go back to The Five Sisters without me,” he said gravely. ‘If something happened to you—”

She cut off his words by leaning forward and pressing her sweet lips to his.

There was urgency in her kiss—goodbye and I’ll miss you and I can’t wait for next weekend—but mostly there was a warm woman who tasted of sweet grapes and sunny days, and his heart throbbed with devotion to her.

“See you Saturday,” she whispered near his ear, then opened the car door and closed it behind her.





Chapter 10


Staring at the ceiling later that night, Margaret couldn’t fall asleep, wondering who in the world would have broken into her cottage and why they would have stolen a box of personal mementos. It didn’t make any sense at all. Her jewelry box was left untouched, but a box containing old photos and yearbooks was stolen? Those things didn’t mean anything to anyone except her. They certainly couldn’t be sold for any substantial profit.

Suddenly it occurred to her that the FedEx delivery Franklin had given her this morning had been on top of the box too. She groaned. Now she’d have to call her contact, José, at Cava San Luis, and ask him to send a new contract. He wouldn’t be pleased after taking the time to have the first contract hand-delivered on a Saturday, and Margaret wouldn’t look like a very responsible businesswoman.

She reached for her phone and had started writing herself a reminder to call José tomorrow when the phone buzzed in her hands. She closed the note and opened her texts.

Cameron Winslow: Are you awake?

A smile pulled at her lips as her heart fluttered with anticipation.

M. Story: Yes.

Cameron Winslow: I can’t sleep. I can’t stop thinking about today.

M. Story: Which part?

Cameron Winslow: The break-in bothers me. The thought of something happening to you is . . . unacceptable.

Margaret settled back against her pillow and sighed happily despite the fact that they were talking about her cottage being broken into and her property being damaged. He cared about her, and she loved it.

M. Story: I’m fine. It was probably just some stupid kids, or someone who drank too much next door. You don’t have to worry about me.

Cameron Winslow: Too late.

M. Story: There were other parts of today that were more . . .

Her fingers paused as she pulled her bottom lip into her mouth.

Cameron Winslow: Pleasant?

M. Story:? My thoughts exactly.

Cameron Winslow: That kiss at Harrell. Christ, Meggie, where’d you learn to kiss like that?

M. Story: Where did you?

Cameron Winslow: Bree Ambler.

Margaret’s eyes narrowed with jealousy at the thought of Bree Ambler touching Cameron. She didn’t care that they’d probably been teenagers when it happened. It still made her bristle . . . and recall a certain summer when she and Bree’s brother Dash had spent a little time together as well.

M. Story: Dash Ambler.

Cameron Winslow: Shit! Why did you tell me that? I could have happily lived my life without picturing you and Dash getting it on. Great. Now I’m going to have to kill a childhood friend in cold blood.

M. Story: Well, picturing you and Bree makes me superhappy too. So I guess we’re even.

Cameron Winslow: The Amblers were pretty racy.

She giggled, nodding her head.

M. Story: And the Rousseaus were sophisticated.

Cameron Winslow: And the Englishes were Boy Scouts.

M. Story: And the Winslows were wild.

Cameron Winslow: This Winslow’s wild . . . for a Story girl.

Her heart fluttered as she touched his words with the pad of her index finger.

M. Story: The Storys were . . .

Cameron Winslow: Proper. (Except Priscilla.)

Proper. Margaret sighed. She knew this, of course, but she didn’t necessarily like it. She didn’t want to be prim and proper Margaret Story. She wanted to be the girl Cameron saw when he looked at her—the woman he kissed like the world was ending. Seduction wasn’t necessarily in her toolbox, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t learn how to put it there.

Cameron Winslow: Meggie? You still there?

M. Story: Tell me a dirty fantasy. One that you’ve had about me.

***

Cameron stared at his phone, his eyes widening in surprise, and his heart sped up as every filthy fantasy he’d ever had about Margaret Story crammed with lightning speed into his consciousness. Was she serious? His erection was thickening under the sheets, and Cameron slid one hand down his naked body to cover it with his palm, feeling it twitch and throb under his fingers.