Leaders make things happen.
“Wel , I stil have that Van Dyck acquisition coming in, you know. Two-point-one mil ion.”
“There. You see? Though for the record I must add that two mil ion dol ars for a Van Dyck is beyond my understanding.” He shook his head in mock disdain. “So,
’tis settled, aye? You wil stay and fight.” And when Cam threw her chin up then down, he added, “In any case, what would you have done if you had left?”
Had she real y thought she would go with Jacket? To London? Away from the town she loved so much? But clearly she had, for why else would she be so sure that leaving was the right thing to do?
Peter saw the calculation in her eyes and must have guessed the reason for it as wel .
“What is Jacket to you?” he asked softly. A muscle in his jaw flexed.
“He is nothing.”
“Cam.”
He lifted her chin, and she hooded her eyes, unwil ing to let him see. He brushed the top of her sweater and she flushed. The necklace was gone. She had moved the ring to her finger.
For an instant Peter swayed, but then his hand found the wide band of silver and he found his composure.
“He is a good man, aye? I need to know that much, at least.”
“He asked me to marry him,” she said.
“There is a certain inarguable goodness in that, I suppose,” Peter said, smiling, though the smile died away when he added, “And you wil ?”
“No,” she said. “I want you.”
“I am not to be had,” he said sadly. “I must return. I have pleased myself here far too long.”
“Stay.”
“Oh, Campbel .”
She leaned forward and brought her mouth to his. She could feel the sense of his body change from sorrow to desire.
“Campbel ,” he warned when they parted.
She drew her fingers along his jaw and the sleek groove of his ear.
He made a whimpering noise, which Cam heightened with a flick of her tongue. She wanted to chase the sadness from his heart like a wildfire clearing fields, and she would use every tool at her command.
She brought herself against him, feeling the long bones of his legs and girded steel of his hips and letting him feel the press of her breasts.
He stood to free himself. She fol owed, and he ensnared her in his arms.
“Stop,” he begged.
She leaned back, spreading her shoulders across his arms, and he buried himself in the expanse of her col arbone. With the barest twist, she brought the ful ness of her bosom to his lips.
He shifted his arm, unbalancing her, and took the jutting peak of cashmere between his teeth.
The plume of fire reached her hips. She tried to shift but only one foot held the floor.
He pul ed the nub of flesh slowly, to the furthest reach of pleasure, then let go.
“I want you,” she whispered.
“I want you in ways I should not.”
Two more tugs, and she made a long, soft cry.
He jerked her to her feet, caught the flap of her sweater and pul ed. The pearl buttons opened, except the last, which snapped its thread and skittered across the floor. His eyes glittered. The bra she had put on for Jacket’s sake had his ful attention. See-through and made of lace the color of flushed skin, its cups were embroidered with seed pearls and the spark of crystal in a scant, twining vine that curved invitingly around her aureoles. The boning held her breasts as high as they had ever reached, and the narrow straps of matching silk that ran from her shoulders around the bottom of her breasts met in a tiny bow over the perilously fastened front clasp. Panties of a similar design stretched hip to hip. It was the sort of lingerie a woman wore for one purpose and one purpose only. For Cam, who faced the prospect of giving Jacket a long-overdue answer to his question, choosing such immodest garments had been a matter of hoping the form of enthusiasm would inspire the substance.
But now, with Peter, they were the most fitting complement to her feelings.
He gazed at her, awestruck. Cam could see his heart beat in the hol ow of his throat. He opened his hand as if to ask her permission. She nodded, and his fingertips came to rest on
