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)
He gazed at her steadily, letting his eyes roam her striking features, her lush lips, her silky red-gold hair pulled into a knot on top of her head. “You took the words right out of my mouth. Only you could put all your heart and soul into managing this project.”
Cammie put her heart and soul into everything she did, from decorating his homes, to running his life, to caring for her uncle. He’d already proven he was a mess without her.
She was everything, and he was pretty damn sure she didn’t even know it.
Before he could think how ill-advised it might be, he leaned forward to wrap his hand around her nape. Then slowly, giving her every chance to stop him, he pulled her close. The island kiss had been spectacular but brief. This kiss was openmouthed, sweet with champagne and raspberries and her. Their tongues played hide-and-seek, and their bodies drifted together. He kissed her until their breaths became one, until their heartbeats raced at the same pace.
She put her hands on his shoulders and floated over him as he leaned back against the tub, their bodies caressing, their skin hot. He took her mouth as if he’d been starved for her. With a teasing bite on her lip, he drew her in, delving deep, his tongue sliding along hers. She came down on him, parting her legs, straddling him until he felt her everywhere. If he’d thought he’d known heaven before, he’d been wrong. Because this was heaven.
This was what he’d dreamed of night after night, knowing she was just down the hall. Knowing she was off-limits. Until this moment. When she was everything he could ever want in his arms.
Her skin was like satin, her taste like the finest champagne, her thighs taut and inviting. Sliding his hands down her sides, he wanted nothing more than to tear off the sexy swimsuit. Tracing his fingers across her back, he held her closer, closer as he slipped his fingers down to the base of her spine, touching her there, feeling her quiver against him, her legs tightening around him.
She pulled away to whisper against his lips, “Rules.”
Putting a hand to the back of her head, he murmured, “What rules?”
He wanted to break every single one. Now. Wanted to feast on her skin, her breasts, every part of her.
Her voice tantalized him. “We’re being so naughty.”
The word made him crazy. “Say that again. It’s so damned sexy and hot.”
She whispered, “Naughty.”
He might have exploded right then. He might have pushed her up on the side of the tub and tasted her. He might have done every single naughty, rule-breaking thing he’d thought of for so long. Everything he’d denied himself.
But her phone rang.
At first, he thought it had to be a dream. No, a nightmare.
But the phone kept ringing.
Then she pushed away from him, her eyes wide, perhaps even frightened. “It’s Clyde.”
“We’ve been waiting over a week to hear from him.” They’d called Clyde first, even before presenting to the Mavericks.
Her voice grew tremulous. “What if he needs help?”
Dane’s worry ratcheted up, just as Cammie’s did. He truly liked the old man. “You’d better get it.”
Yet he mourned the loss of this moment between them. There might never be another.
Chapter Eighteen
What was going on with Clyde?
Cammie didn’t have time to think about what she and Dane had been doing in the hot tub. Not now. Because that was Clyde’s special ringtone. His butler, Digbert, usually made any calls, then transferred after she answered. But Clyde himself was calling. Something had to be wrong.
After climbing out of the tub, she dripped water across the deck as she ran for her phone on the lounge chair. Even after twelve years, she was still close to the old man. She flew out to see him every six months or so. He was like another uncle. And she was a surrogate daughter, since he’d never had kids. They often talked on the phone, but never this late, considering the three-hour time difference. He should have been in bed by now. Worry churned her stomach.
“Clyde?” She heard the anxiety in her own voice. “How are you doing? Is everything okay?”
“Of course it is, dear.” He harrumphed with irritation. “Everything’s fine. I’m going to live forever. Do you think I’m an old man?” His British accent hadn’t faded, though he’d left the UK years ago.
“No, no, no. I never think of you that way.”
Dane climbed out of the water, sleek and beautiful, grabbing the two towels and wrapping one around his waist, hiding every inch of beautiful skin.
She sagged onto the lounge chair, still dizzy with worry even as it waned, and mouthed to Dane, He’s okay.
Dane draped the towel over her shoulders. She’d grown cold in just a minute or two.
Only now could she think about what almost happened in that tub. How amazing his taste was after all these years, the feel of his skin against hers, his hands on her, his lips taking hers. It was as if they’d time-traveled back to that night in his condo on the golf course.