“Some things never change,” she said, lifting her chin, fighting for the detached air she wore like she wore her favorite perfume. Why was it so hard to find when Cam was around? “You’re still completely full of yourself.”
He actually gave a soft laugh. “Well, yeah.”
That was another really appealing thing about this guy—he knew himself and he owned his flaws. Oh, he owned his accomplishments and talents too, but he owned his flaws.
She just wasn’t sure he thought being full of himself was a flaw.
“You really like that dress?” he asked, his gaze tracking over her again.
She nodded. “I do. I think it’s time I try a few new things.”
She didn’t like this dress. Well, she liked the dress. But she wasn’t going to wear it. She wasn’t… ready for a dress like this. She wanted to be. She wanted to feel confident and free of worrying about her image and prepared to just go with what felt good, but she’d spent twenty-nine years having to worry about what other people thought and how she presented herself and trying to prove herself. It was going to take some time to get to the point where this dress was a good fit. Metaphorically.
“Then I know exactly where you can wear it,” Cam said.
“Oh?”
“Timothy’s.”
Timothy’s was an expensive restaurant in Dubuque. White tablecloths, multiple forks, all of that. “Yeah, I guess this would work at Timothy’s,” she agreed.
“So let’s go tomorrow night.”
She froze. Slowly she lifted her eyes to his. “Us?”
“You and me.”
“Just us?”
“Yes.”
“Like a…business dinner? We’ll talk about plans for—”
“No. Dinner, wine, dessert, me feeling you up under the table, walking downtown and talking, late drinks, then sex all night in a suite at the Hilton.”
Whitney just stared at him. Her heart was thundering so loud that she almost couldn’t hear anything else. This was the thing with Cam’s straightforwardness—it was really hard to pretend that you misunderstood.
Okay, so her cool façade was going to waver a bit. So sue her.
“Not even a pretense of something else?” she finally asked.
“When have I ever been a pretense guy?”
He had a point. “So you actually want…” She trailed off and pressed her lips together, not sure she wanted him to fill that in.
He moved closer again. The air between them heated. At least she was feeling hotter.
“To look at you in that fucking dress all night long,” he said. “Getting harder and hotter as the time goes on until we can’t stand it any longer and I almost rip it off of you in the elevator on the way up to the room.”
Well. Holy. Shit.
She’d asked.
And she’d wanted an answer like that.
But that answer was really the worst thing he could have possibly said.
How was she supposed to be completely professional and pretend she was over him when he said stuff like that?
He’s just pushing your buttons, she told herself.
He didn’t look like he was kidding. Or messing around. But she had to tell herself that was exactly what he was doing. Or she was going to grab him and strip him out of that hot suit and lick the tattoos that he’d added to since she’d last been able to lick them.
Daaaaaamit.
She took a breath. Then nodded. “Okay, so I guess my butt doesn’t look weird in this dress, then.”
He didn’t seem surprised that was the only reaction she gave. “Definitely not.”
“Okay, thanks for the input.”
She stepped around him and headed for the bathroom.
2
He waited for her to change.
Of course he did.
He wasn’t the type of guy to leave and let her catch her breath and gather her composure and see each other the next day as if he hadn’t just confessed that he wanted to take her out.
And to a hotel. For sex.
He really hated beating around the bush, so he didn’t. It made it so much easier when he knew that everyone knew exactly where he stood on things.
It was very important that Whitney Lancaster know where he stood on things.
That was why he was still here in her office, perusing the stuff on her shelves, playing with the stress ball he’d picked up from her desk, and thinking about the fact that she was at least semi-naked on the other side of the thin door of her private bathroom. And wondering what color panties she had on. Or if maybe it was a thong. Like the one he’d picked up from the snowy pavement a few months ago.
A gentleman wouldn’t think about that. Or the last time he’d seen her in a thong. Or naked. Well, he assumed. He only knew maybe one and a half gentlemen and he didn’t spend a ton of time with them.
A guy who was over her probably wouldn’t think about any of that either.
Of course, he was neither of those things.
As evidenced by the things he’d said to her. And the fact that he was still here and planning to say more.
He squeezed the ball harder as he studied the framed photos that she had on the shelves of the massive cherrywood bookcase by her window.
The photos were of her with her family. Of course.
And wow, he really hated her grandfather and father.
He felt his chest tighten with bitterness and anger just looking at photos of them.
Dean and Eric Lancaster were the epitome of entitled, rich assholes who thought that they could do whatever they wanted to because they had money and power.
It was not a secret to anyone who knew Cam and his history with the Lancasters, or to himself—or the therapist that he’d seen for a while a few years ago—that a lot of his drive came from wanting to be a rich asshole too. He wanted to be at their level of wealth and success so that he could prove that they’d been wrong. About everything.
It absolutely wasn’t mentally healthy, but it had worked out so far. He was rich and successful and
