Crazy about Cameron: The Winslow Brothers #3(8)

Her head snapped up so quickly that it connected with Shane’s chin before she realized he’d been leaning over her from behind her chair.

“Uh!” he grunted, then stepped back and rubbed his chin.

“Ouch!” she cried, covering the top of her head with her palm and wincing as she turned around to face him. “Shane, I’m so sorry.”

“That’s one solid noggin,” he said, flexing his reddening jaw dramatically.

“Solid seems to be the consensus,” she muttered, dropping her hand to her lap.

“You were off in dreamland.”

She couldn’t help smiling as her sweet dreams faded. “I guess I was.”

“Sorry to interrupt.”

“You paid your penance,” she joked, gesturing to his chin. “What’s up?”

“Your father . . . Well, he invited me for dinner at Forrester on Saturday night, but I . . .” He let his words trail off and dangle between them as he searched her face.

“Yes! Oh, yes! I’m so sorry, Shane. I meant to ask you yesterday if you were free.”

Shane recovered with a confident smile and nodded. “I’m always free for you, Margaret.”

He meant the words to be romantic—that much was clear from the dopey grin that accompanied them—but she wasn’t even the slightest bit wooed. Her father had essentially asked her sort of-boyfriend out on a date. How exactly was Margaret meant to take any pleasure in that?

She sighed, mustering a warm smile. “I’m so glad. Father would have been terribly disappointed.”

Shane’s eyes clouded over for a moment, and he took a step back to lean his elbow on the half wall of her cubicle. His voice was soft, almost tender, when he asked, “How about you? Would you have been disappointed?”

No. Not a bit, she thought. If you weren’t free, I’d be able to spend all weekend at The Five Sisters in jeans and a sweatshirt. Now I’m going to have to drive back to the city on Saturday afternoon to be a dutiful daughter and sit through a long, awkward dinner with you and my father. If anything, your availability has ruined my weekend.

Her biting thoughts shamed her a little, and her cheeks grew hot under his scrutiny. Shane was a decent person. They’d had several lovely dinners and attended a gorgeous concert at the Kimmel Center. The nights that they cooked dinner at her apartment had always been enjoyable. At the very least, she considered Shane a friend, and she couldn’t deny he had all the qualities she should be seeking in a potential mate.

Ticktock, ticktock, reminded her biological clock. You’re almost thirty, best get flirty.

His eyes were soft and sincere, almost encouraging, as they searched her face, and she felt another stab of guilt because the idea of sleeping with Shane held zero allure. The few times she’d kissed him, it had been like kissing one of her cousins.

Perhaps it was time to be honest with him and let him know that she’d never be able to see him separately from her father, that her father’s involvement in their courtship made it impossible for her to consider a future with him. She wanted the rush of falling in love, and Shane felt like . . . business. She didn’t know if his feelings for her were genuine or not, but just in case they were, she had a responsibility to let him down gently, didn’t she?

“Shane, listen, I feel that I should—”

“Well, well, well!” her father’s voice boomed. “If it isn’t two of my favorite people!”

Shane turned to Douglas Story with an enthusiastic grin, and Margaret sighed. So much for honesty. The moment was gone.

“All set for dinner on Saturday, Shane? Margaret?”

“Yes, Father,” said Margaret, rewarded by her father’s approving nod.

“I’m so pleased.” He turned to Shane, putting his arm around the younger man’s shoulder. “Margaret finally got around to forwarding the Gallo-Fishtail numbers to me. Come take a look.”

Mouthing, “See you Saturday?” over his shoulder, Shane followed her father down the hall. Her delicious thoughts of Cameron Winslow were traded for a here and now that felt ever more oppressive.





Chapter 3


Margaret hadn’t texted Cameron a reminder, but she hadn’t canceled their meeting tonight either, which meant, as far as he was concerned, that they were still on.

With butterflies buzzing in his stomach and a rare feeling of exuberance making his stride quick and determined, he walked home from the office without that all-too-familiar drowning feeling for the first time in weeks. Tonight felt different. Yes, there were too many calls to return, too many contracts to review, too many meetings to schedule, and too many reports to write, and yet, he felt almost buoyant as he rounded the corner where he’d bumped into her yesterday morning. Why? Because tonight he was going home to Margaret.

And he couldn’t wait.

Glancing at his watch, he found it was seven forty. He had just enough time to stop by his apartment and change into a fresh shirt and some jeans before ringing her bell, which is why he didn’t stop to chat when Diego greeted him in the lobby.

“Se?or Winslow!”

“Buenas noches, Diego,” he answered, nodding politely as he beelined for the elevator.

Diego followed him. “Uh, Mr. Winslow, I heared that you gonna use my primo, uh, Geraldo, to do the renovations at your apartment, yes?”