Crazy about Cameron: The Winslow Brothers #3(52)
“And that’s all I am now.”
“What does that mean?”
She sighed. “I’m not welcome at my childhood home. I don’t work for Story Imports anymore. And part of me is sad that my father and I can’t even . . . I don’t know . . . can’t have a normal father–daughter relationship. And you know what? Maybe we never will.”
“I’m sorry about that.”
“I’m not finished,” she said, looking up at him. “I’m sad on one hand, but on the other? I’ve never felt happier or freer. Without breaking away from him, I wouldn’t have been able to see the rest of my life so clearly. I know exactly where I want to be. I want to be here. Every morning, every afternoon, every evening. I’m not sad that I’m a vintner and a sommelier. I’m grateful. I’m just sad that figuring out my future meant leaving my father behind.”
“You’re still his daughter, even if there are fences to be mended.”
“You’re right.” She smiled with such a heartbreaking mixture of hope and gratitude, it made his chest hurt. He hoped that it wouldn’t take too long for Mr. Story to get his head out of his ass and see this amazing woman who just happened to be his daughter.
“What about you?” she asked, looking anxious to change the subject. “You’ve sold C & C Winslow to the Englishes. What comes next?”
He shrugged, trying to look like he wasn’t sure, when the only future that appealed to him right now was sharing one with her. But even though they’d known each other all their lives, he still wasn’t sure how she’d feel about having him as a partner and sharing The Five Sisters.
“Finish the winery and tasting room for Jessica’s wedding.”
“And then?”
Her eyes were bright and encouraging, and he desperately wanted to say, Stay here with you and make The Five Sisters into a profitable business. Wake up next to you every morning. Find you among the vines every afternoon. Fall asleep beside you every evening. That’s what I want.
Instead he chickened out and grinned at her. “Maybe buy my woman some Mexican grapes.”
He hadn’t planned to use the words my woman, and he found hearing them both silly and marvelous. Silly because he knew he didn’t need to say it—they’d tacitly, if not overtly, decided to start seeing each other—and labeling her as his woman was possessive and sophomoric, but it was the first time he’d ever said those words, and he was surprised by how much it pleased him to hear them. His heart swelled with pride, with hope, with something that felt so very much like love.
“Your . . . woman?” she asked, leaning across the table with a teasing smile.
“If you’re someone else’s woman, I’m going to be pissed. We just got rid of Olson.”
She laughed, a lovely, warm sound that knocked every other sound off his list of favorites. As her laughter faded away, her eyes sobered. “Is that really what I am? Your woman?”
He shrugged and considered another cute, cowardly response, but his heart throbbed with tenderness for her, and he found himself saying, “You’re a lot more. You’re my friend. My business partner. The goddess who invited me into her bed this morning,” he teased, but she didn’t smile back at him. Her eyes were wide and serious, vulnerable in their nakedness, and he realized that she was waiting for an answer to her question. “And yes, baby, my woman . . . if you’ll have me.”
Her face didn’t register a reaction to his words, but her feet slid off his lap, and she scooted her chair back, holding his eyes as she stood up. She reached for her glasses and placed them on the table. Placing one foot on the bench where she’d been sitting, she arched her back, which thrust her breasts forward, and reached for the end of her braid. The rubber band fell to the ground with a satisfying snap, and she took her time unbraiding the strands and then shaking out her gorgeous, wavy mane.
Cameron gulped.
Holy shit.
She was doing it. She was acting out his fantasy for him. Right here. Right now. His heart raced as he watched her.
Her fingers moved to the first button of her white button-down shirt, lingering for a moment before unfastening it with a soft pop. Cameron stared, mesmerized as the second, third, fourth, and fifth buttons followed suit, revealing that she hadn’t put on a bra after showering earlier. Finally the two halves of the shirt hung loosely open, and she rolled her shoulders—where the f*ck had she learned that little trick?—and it fell to the ground in a whisper.
She stood there like a goddess in the dying light, wearing nothing but a pair of jeans and a sassy grin.
“I’ll have you,” she answered.
Then she turned her back to him and sauntered into the house as Cameron struggled to pick his chin up off the floor.
***
Margaret’s heart thundered as she walked through the kitchen and sitting room and up the stairs to her bedroom. Her nipples were taut and hard by the time she got there, both from the chilly evening air and the crazy amounts of arousal she’d felt watching his eyes darken from emerald to forest-green to black, and his lips part in surprise and excitement.
She listened for his feet on the stairs, but all was quiet for a moment as she sat down on the bed. She waited for him with an encroaching uncertainty: had she been too forward?
As she was just about to wrap her half-naked body with the bedsheets, she heard his chair skitter across her flagstone patio and crash to the ground. A second later, the kitchen door opened and slammed shut, and before she could register his ascending steps, there stood Cameron at the entrance to her bedroom, his eyes wild and focused mercilessly on her.