Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 86020 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86020 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
“Rex will go wild, shaking out all the chipmunks and chasing them,” she said, demonstrating, hands on both ends so nothing fell out.
He could see her playing with the dog. How she loved that dachshund. He did too. And he loved that T. Rex was theirs together.
She looked at him pointedly, her face tipped up. “Rex absolutely must have this.”
Dane reached for it. “I’ll get it.”
She hugged the chipmunk log to her chest. “No. I’ll get it.”
“But this is my trip. I’ll buy it.”
She glowered at him. “But if you do, it’s not my gift to Rex.”
“It doesn’t really matter who pays for it—it’s from both of us.”
“You don’t get it.”
He opened his mouth, ready to argue with her, but before he could utter another word, she slapped her hand over his lips, shutting him up.
An electric shock zipped through him. He wanted to lick her palm, wanted to grab her and lick way more than that.
But Cammie yanked back before he could get his tongue between his lips.
Her eyes were wide, her face a grimace, as if she’d been scorched by boiling water.
And maybe she had.
Certainly, he’d been scorched.
Chapter Seventeen
Cammie could barely speak. She could barely even think. She still felt his lips on her palm. Had he licked her?
No, that was just her imagination.
Yet an electric current had rushed through her, so powerful that if she hadn’t been stunned, she might have thrown herself into his arms and kissed him.
It was the only thing on earth she wanted to do.
Even twenty minutes later, when they’d made it back to the cable car turnaround near Ghirardelli Square, Cammie was still reeling from that almost… She didn’t know what to call it. Not a kiss; it was just his mouth under her hand. But it was something. Something delicious and sexy.
Something she needed to forget.
It had been such a fabulous day. First, the meeting with the Mavericks, then mustering the courage to ask to be project manager. Then she’d been swept away by the beauty of the gardens and the park, mesmerized by the cable car ride and Dane feeding her the banana split and clam chowder, the seals, the view of the Golden Gate Bridge and Alcatraz on a sunny day.
Being with him made it sublime.
He stopped before entering the line waiting for the next cable car. “Let’s do something to celebrate everything we’ve accomplished.”
“That’s what we’ve been doing all day.”
He shook his head, looking at her as if she had no imagination. “We were playing tourist. Now we need something truly special.”
“Like what?” Her heart beat faster, as if it expected something amazing.
Dane took out his phone, checking the time. Then he smiled. “It’s close to dinnertime. Let’s go back to the flat and ask Fernsby to make us the most delectable meal. We’ll let him choose. In fact, I’ll call him right now so he can start preparing. What do you think?”
It was the crowning touch to a flawless day. “That’s brilliant. No restaurant chef can make anything better than Fernsby can.”
Dane raised an eyebrow and made a mock choking sound in his throat. “Now that will go to his head.”
Laughing, Cammie said, “He’s the one who told me that.” Then she looked at the cable car line. It wasn’t as long as the one at Powell and Market, but they still might not make it onto the next car. “Let’s walk. It’s only a mile or so, right?”
Dane looked up, and up and up. Somewhere up there was Nob Hill. “We’ll certainly work up an appetite. Let’s do it.” Then he grinned. “Even if you are crazy.”
Cammie wanted to be crazy. With him. They were both in good shape. While she’d been caring for her uncle, taking a break for a walk had kept her sanity intact. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of a few hills,” she scoffed.
Dane could never turn down a challenge. “You’re on.”
They climbed at a measured pace, never rushing, not trying to outdo each other, just taking the hills one step at a time. Just before Lombard Street, a cable car clanked down the hill, its bell ringing. Another came up filled with passengers from the turnaround. Cammie waved, and the gripman rang his bell.
The route wasn’t all straight up. Sometimes they had a respite, but after all their long hikes, neither she nor Dane was breathing terribly hard when they finally reached his flat on Nob Hill. It comprised the entire top floor of one of San Francisco’s beautiful old buildings that had been rebuilt right after the 1906 earthquake.
Though not the biggest in San Francisco, what the flat lacked in size it made up for in sheer beauty, everything constructed with precision. But that didn’t mean it was minuscule. Dane had remodeled after purchasing it, creating three suites, one for each of them—Dane, Cammie, and, of course, Fernsby, whose rooms were next to the chef’s kitchen he’d had a big hand in designing. In addition, there was a great room, dining room, guest bathroom, and an office large enough for their two desks.