Crazy About Cameron: The Winslow Brothers #3 (The Blueberry Lane Series -The Winslow Brothers) (12 page)

His eyes flashed, green and wild, for just a moment before his lips landed flush on hers, coaxing hers open beneath his. His tongue slipped into her mouth, seeking hers, and tangling with it once found. She moaned, turning in his arms so that her breasts, puckered and tight against her thin, sheer bra and silk blouse, pushed into the hard wall of his chest. He lifted her bottom, urging her to straddle his lap and, once she had, pulled her closer to him as he bit her bottom lip, pulling on it gently before releasing it. She wound her arms around his neck, finally plunging her hands into his thick, black hair and savoring the feeling of the soft strands between her fingers, loving his groan as she sucked on his tongue before letting it go. She guided his lips to her throat, leaning her neck to the side as they touched down on her hot skin, kissing and blowing, raising goose bumps of pleasure all over her body. She let her head fall back and her eyes close as he kissed a trail from her throat to her ear, taking the sensitive lobe between his teeth and biting gently as she whimpered, then sighed.

“Cameron,” she panted. “What are we doing?”

“I can’t help wanting you,” he murmured against her neck, his hot breath fanning her pulse. She could hear it beating in her ears and was sure he could feel it against his lips.

“I like it that you want me,” she confessed, her fingers playing lightly in his hair as their chests crashed into each other with every drawn breath.

“But I’ll ruin this,” he said softly, bending his head to rest his forehead on her shoulder. “I’ll ruin this if we don’t stop.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t have the time right now. And without it, I’ll lose you. And you’re . . . too fine for me to play with or to risk.” His breath was hot on her shoulder, branding her as he continued close to her ear, “You have to understand. When I come for you, there’ll be no half measures, Meggie. When I come for you, I’ll be coming with everything I’ve got.”

She was aroused and frustrated, riveted by the fierce promise embedded in his words.

“I wish my life was simpler right now,” he said, raising his head to look at her, caressing her face with his eyes.

She gulped softly, willing away the tears that brightened her eyes. “I understand.”

Placing her hands on his shoulders, she lifted herself off his lap and stepped away from him, smoothing her skirt back down. She took her napkin and wiped the remaining wetness from her cheeks before putting her glasses back on. His rejection hurt, though she felt his longing for her, and that offered a bit of hope and solace.

He stood up behind her and cleared his throat, prompting her to turn around. His eyes were dark and wide, infused with a vulnerability that did something extreme to her heart—it made her want to protect him and do what was best for him, and be whatever he needed her to be . . . now, tomorrow, for the rest of her life.

“Meggie,” he said, gulping softly, “if you asked me to be with you, I wouldn’t be able to say no.”

She had already learned this about him: that when he cared for someone, he couldn’t refuse them. Not when his brother abandoned their company to run for office, nor when his sister needed a last-minute venue for her wedding. That over the past few weeks he’d added her to that list was so beautiful, it was almost painful, and the responsibility not to mistreat his feelings for her was as overwhelming as it was unthinkable. She wanted him very badly, yes, but not at the cost of his conscience.

“Shall we forget it happened?” she asked.

He shook his head, hazarding a small grin. “Impossible. I’ll be living on it for a while.”

“Sorry for getting so emotional,” she said, trying to resist the melancholy that threatened to overtake her as he prepared to go.

He reached out and cupped her cheek gently. “We’ve become friends, Meggie. There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

“Friends,” she said, the word feeling flat and awful after the kiss they’d just shared.

“For now,” he said, with burning eyes, bending down to kiss her forehead and leaving without saying goodbye.

Margaret resented the Saturday nights she had to stay in Philadelphia, but she was surprised by how irritated Geraldo had seemed by her text that she would be in Philly all day Saturday and that he wouldn’t be able to get into her apartment to work until Sunday. As she walked to work on Friday morning, she stared again at his message:

I NEED to work Sat. How else I can finish the project?!?!?!

Margaret straightened her spine and wrote back:

I’m sorry, but I’ll be home on Saturday. You may work on Sunday.

Her phone buzzed immediately:

I just work a little on Sat.

She widened her eyes at his pushiness. She didn’t want to wake up to Geraldo banging away in her kitchen. Her plan was to sleep in, meet Priscilla for brunch at noon, have their hair and nails done together for the gala tomorrow night, and be ready to go when Shane picked them up. Not that Shane knew that Pris would now be joining them, but something told Margaret that he wouldn’t mind.

Her fingers typed swiftly:

No, you won’t. You may work on Sunday, Geraldo, not Saturday. That’s final.

As she turned onto the street where the offices of Story Imports were located, her phone buzzed again:

U messing up my schedule, lady.

“Huh!” she exclaimed.

As long as we’re being frank, you’re messing up my schedule too. I was quite certain you’d be more than halfway done by now, and you’ve barely completed the demolition. If you want to quit the job, please say so, and I will find someone else to take over. Otherwise you are welcome to continue your work on Sunday and not before.

A moment later, she received the text:

Fine. I b there Sunday.

She nodded at her phone, feeling satisfied, and tucked it into the outside pocket of her purse as she entered the elevator. Thus empowered, she decided it was also time to tackle another difficult male in her life, so instead of sitting down at her cubicle desk outside her father’s office, she marched into the sanctum sanctorum and crossed her arms over her chest as her father’s surprised, disapproving eyes slammed into hers.

“Good morning, Margaret.”

“Good morning, Father.”

She pulled out a chair from in front of his desk and sat down, her posture ramrod straight.

“Please, sit,” he said sarcastically.

“Thank you.”

“As you know, I prefer for guests to make appointments before dropping into my office.”

“I’m not a guest. I’m your daughter.”

He narrowed his eyes, sitting back in his chair. “A fact not lost on me.”

“And yet I feel certain it
has been
lost on you,” she said.

“Now, you listen here, young miss. I—”

“No, Father,” she said, with all the conviction she could muster, though she trembled inside, “
you
listen. I am your daughter. Not a guest. Not just an employee. Your
daughter
.”

“A well-established point.”

“You should treat me like one.”

He shook his head, huffing impatiently. “What is this?”

“It’s me standing up for myself.”

“You sound like Alice.”

“I admire Alice. I love her. You forced her into an untenable position.”

“Untenable!” he thundered. “I gave her a job here!”

“As an administrative assistant!” boomed Margaret, leaning forward. “She should have been your right hand! A manager! A vice president! She has an MBA, Father!”

“I know. I paid for it,” he said. “Damned waste of time.”

“What? Why?”

“Because you’re girls!” he exclaimed. “You’ll meet a man, and then what? Stay home and have babies, just like your mother. What’s the point of an MBA?”

“Maybe we don’t
want
to have babies! Maybe we don’t
want
to be mothers!”

Her father’s eyes widened in shock. “Is that true?”

It wasn’t. Not even a little bit. Her longing for children was a daily ache.

“That’s not the point. We’re all capable of more than being secretaries at the company started by
our
grandfather and saved by
our
mother’s money!”

Her father sat back in his chair as though struck, staring at Margaret in disbelief and fury. His voice was low with rage when he said, “You forget yourself, Margaret Anne.”

“No, sir. I think I’m finally remembering myself.”

“Get out,” he snarled. “You’re no better than your sister.”

“I take that as a compliment,” she said softly as tears leaped to her eyes.

His reddened face, so angry, made her frightened, made her pause.

“Father,” she started, working to keep her voice even and gentle, “all I’ve ever wanted was to please you. But you had no right to tell Shane that I would marry him. I won’t. I can’t. I’m not in love with Shane.”

“If you had any interest in
pleasing
me, girl,” he sneered, “then you would know that marrying Shane and having some strong Story sons would have been the ticket. If that doesn’t appeal to your useless sensibilities about”—he sniffed derisively—“
love,
we have nothing further to discuss.”

“Father—”

“You’re excused,” he said, pinning her with a disgusted look before picking up his phone and dialing. “Yes, I need a security guard sent up immediately to escort Miss Story from the premises. She no longer works for Story Imports, and I would prefer to avoid a scene like the one precipitated by my
other
daughter.”

Her breaking heart snapped as she stood up from her chair. She stared at her father with a fury that matched his own.

“You will regret this,” she promised him softly, her tears drying up suddenly as a coldness infused her whole body. “When you’re old and gray and alone, you will regret that you forced your daughters to hate you.”

“My cross to bear,” he said, then leveled his eyes at her, taunting her with his words. “Recall, will you, Margaret, that your trust is, and has always been, under the purview of your parents until the event of their demise, and, your dear mother’s passing aside, I am still very much—”

“Are you threatening my—”

A security guard knocked once on the open door, then stood awkwardly in the doorway. Margaret glanced at him, then looked back at her father.

“—alive. Now, get out.” He tented his fingers under his chin. “Your escort has arrived.”

“Do I mean
nothing
to you?”

His face didn’t crack as he stared back at her. “Good day, Margaret,” he said, then turned his attention entirely to his computer screen.

Margaret pivoted and allowed herself to be escorted from the premises of Story Imports.

***

“Barrett!” said Cameron, waving to his friend, Alex English’s oldest brother, from across the dining room of the Penn Club taproom.

He watched the sandy-haired man weave his way to the reserved table and shook his hand heartily once he’d arrived, gesturing for Barrett to take a seat.

“Good to see you, Cam,” said Barrett with a nod. “All good?”

“Can’t complain. How’s Emily?”

Barrett grinned upon hearing his new bride’s name. “She’s fine. Tell me, when are you taking the plunge?”

Cameron chuckled. “No imminent plans.”

“Did I hear the wedding’s been moved?”

Cameron nodded, sitting back down in his chair. “Winterhaven canceled the contract a few weeks ago. Bastards.”

“But Alex informed us you’ve found an alternative location? A vineyard?”

“That’s right,” Cameron said, pausing to ask the waiter to bring them a bottle of San Pellegrino. He turned back to Barrett. “Margaret Story owns a vineyard about an hour from here. I’m helping her renovate the winery in time for the wedding.”

“Well,” said Barrett, “that’s no small task. It’s only a few weeks away.”

“It’s amazing what you can do when price is no object.”

“No object?” Barrett’s shrewd blue eyes narrowed. “I wouldn’t think a vineyard was the sort of investment
you’d
pour money into. Don’t you boys run more with the financial crowd?”

“Actually,” said Cameron, “that’s what I’d like to talk to you about.”

Barrett sat back in his chair and looked at Cameron with interest. “A new investment opportunity?”

The Winslows and Englishes had just partnered on a successful shipping merger last year, combining three of the top shipping companies in the world into the largest publicly traded shipping company based on the eastern seaboard of the United States. They had a good track record working together on lucrative deals, so Cameron understood Barrett’s sudden interest. In fact, he counted on it.

“In a manner of speaking.” Cameron squeezed some lime into his sparkling water before looking up. “A financial company here in Philly is available for private sale. Mostly private equity, some mergers and acquisitions. Old name, respected. Flush clientele list and several projects in the hopper.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d guess it was C & C Winslow,” said Barrett, raising his glass to his lips.

Cameron locked his eyes with Barrett’s and nodded. “Funny you’d say that.”

“You can’t be serious.”

Cameron sighed. “I am.”

“Your father started that company.”

“And I’ve been saddled with it.”

“But Chris . . .”

“He’s pursuing a congressional bid.”

“Huh. I thought controller.”

Cameron shook his head. “Nope. Congress. He’s not coming back, Barrett.”

“So you’re solo.”

“Yes. And it’s, well, it’s too much work for a single-man operation.”

Barrett lowered his glass to the table. “Selling seems impulsive.”

Cameron shrugged.

“Why not stick with the company and hire someone to take up the slack?”

“You available?” Cameron joked.

Barrett shook his head. “Afraid not. But Brooks?”

Cameron thought about his older brother, who was presently at home for a couple of weeks to help with Jessica’s wedding. But Brooks spent more time with his sailboats in Maryland than he did in Philadelphia.

“He’s an athlete. Brooks was never into finance.”

Barrett nodded, familiar with Cameron’s ex-Olympian older brother. “Pres?”

Preston, Cameron’s second-oldest brother, had recently gotten his act together after moving home mysteriously last year and spending a few months drinking Scotch and being belligerent. He was finally working at a reputable entertainment law firm in Philly, and Cameron had no interest in distracting or derailing him.

“He’s working at Clifton, Jackson & Webb. On track for partner.”

“That’s right.” Barrett paused like he was weighing something in his head. “Cameron, I hope I’m not out of line, but I think of you like family, and I can’t let you do this without talking it over seriously. C & C Winslow is a legacy. Don’t get me wrong, we’d be crazy to pass up your clientele list alone, and if you’re hell-bent on selling, you know we’d offer the same level of service that you and Chris give your clients—”

“Which is why you’re the only potential buyer for this sale, Barrett.”

“But that’s the thing. Are you sure you
want
to sell? How about a merger instead? English & Sons could buy a seventy percent interest in C & C Winslow, and back up your deals. You’d have Fitz and Kate for legal and Stratton for financials. Alex could handle international and new business for you. After Alex and Jess are married, we’ll be family, so a merger would be an organic transition for all of us. You don’t need to sell.”

You don’t
need
to sell.

Barrett’s words knocked around in Cameron’s head as the waiter came over to take their order.
You don’t
need
to sell
The very words lifted a weight from Cameron’s shoulders as he imagined the English brothers and their cousin, Kate, stepping in to share the burden of C & C Winslow’s clients and deals. He’d be able to have a normal life.

Except.

He’d still be bound to C & C Winslow, which made his heart feel heavy because he was more and more ready to move on to the next chapter of his life.

This morning, he’d taken a break from his business to surf the Internet for more ways to make a regional winery a profitable business venture, and his research had taken him to the largest and most well-run vineyards in the United States, in Napa Valley. Checking out the different business models, he started to realize that if he and Margaret were able to buy adjacent Harrell Reserve, they’d have three times as much growing space and the opportunity to build another couple of hospitality-style buildings for tastings, group events, and weddings. If The Five Sisters became a popular destination, they could then offer to buy the land on the other side and build an inn or bed-and-breakfast, where guests could spend a weekend.