Slow Summer Burn: A Loveswept Contemporary Romance (17 page)

They stayed like that for another fifteen minutes. And then, when the wind began to pick up, they clambered out and dried off before hopping into his truck.

Riding back to town wearing only his drawers and a towel wasn’t new for Val, but it sure must have been for Cameron. Yet she sat regally in her seat with her towel draped around her like a queenly robe. He was no longer surprised at her vigor for life.
Or how young she makes me feel
.

Still draped in the towel, and giggling only a little, Cameron walked from his truck to her cottage. “Why don’t you come in? I have lots of hot water,” she tempted.

“I’m not going to say no to that.”

They made love in the shower, wet hands and hot mouths everywhere, eventually spilling out onto Cameron’s comfortable bed. When they were finally sated, they curled up together, she with a glass of wine and he with a beer, which she’d confessed she bought just for him. Cameron twined her fingers through his hair and lazily stroked. He closed his eyes and drew her closer.

“Thank you,” she said.

“You’re always thanking me,” he said, his tone light. “What is it for this time?”

“Dinner. Tonight. Everything.” Her voice started to sound a little choked up.

He opened his eyes. “Hey, Cam.” He stroked her face with a finger. “Hey, don’t cry.”

“I’m not crying,” she said, her eyes bright. “It’s just that it’s all so new and it’s so wonderful, and I’m sorry that it has to end.”

“I see.” He stopped stroking her cheek. Of course it had to end sometime. She’d go back to her world and he to his. He’d known this day was coming since he’d kissed her outside her store. Still, he couldn’t help but wish it had lasted for just a little longer.

Her hand stilled, too. “Oh, Val, it’s not like that. No—I just meant that the weekend has to end. I have to go back to Boston tomorrow. I can’t put it off any longer.”

He relaxed a bit. “I have to go back, too. We could go together,” he offered.

“Yes. Yes, I’d like that. And maybe …”

“Maybe what?” He barely dared to hope.

“Maybe you could come with me to one of my friends’ parties next weekend? The invitation said ‘plus one’ but I just RSVPed for myself, not truly wanting to go with anyone else, and now I’d like to go with you, so it’s an easy thing for me to …”

“Cam,” he interjected. “I’d love to come.” She wanted to extend this and so did he. Truth be told, he didn’t want to give her up. She was his, for as long as she wanted.

“You would?”

“Yeah, I would,” he said. “A gorgeous woman invites me to a fancy party? Of course I want to go. There’s going to be champagne, right?” His lips curled up in a smile.

Her lips curled up, too. “Undoubtedly.”

“And snobby guests.”

“Loads.”

“And society folks?”

“Naturally.”

“You’ll wear a dress like the one you wore to the Kirkland Awards?”

“What color?”

“Violet. Like your eyes.” He wasn’t joking anymore and she knew it.

“I have one that shade.”

“Is it sexy?”

She licked her lips. “Yes.”

He gave a little growl.

“I should be the one making noises. You have no idea what a suit does for your shoulders.”

“You want shoulders? I’ll show you shoulders,” he said, and flexed until his muscles popped.

She laughed, and he kissed her until they were both breathing heavily. When he pulled back, he took in her tousled hair, her swollen lips, and her slumberous gaze. “You have yourself a date.”

“Thank you,” she said again.

“I have an idea. Why don’t you stop thanking me and instead, show me how appreciative you are?”

She gave him a huge smile, and spent the next two hours doing just that.

Chapter 17

“May I have this dance?” Val’s deep, smooth voice cut through the din.

“Yes,” Cameron said. There was no hesitation this time. None at all. Just his big hand enveloping hers, tugging her toward the dance floor where several couples were already gracefully swaying to the beat of an old jazz standard. She ignored the well-wishers who called out her name, ignored her own parents and her sister who were standing near one of the bar areas, ignored the crystal chandeliers and the gargantuan peony centerpieces in the lavishly decorated ballroom, and simply focused on him.

And when he tucked his body against hers and began to move, well, then it
was
just like the first time he’d asked her to dance. Her chest was pressed up against his, and he was so solid, so real. It thrilled her, knowing she’d seen every inch of him. The intimacy they’d shared over the past couple of weeks was private, and holding that secret simply ratcheted the stakes higher. This delicious man was hers—only hers.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, the lights playing off his cheekbones, emphasizing his lean masculinity.

She looked up at him. “Thank you. I’m glad you like my dress,” she added.

He didn’t say anything. Just pressed his lips together, pulled her fractionally closer, and swept his thumb across the back of her hand. A jolt of electricity flashed through her. Even the smallest gestures with him were charged.

They danced for a while, and after a few songs had passed, he asked her if she’d had enough. She nodded, and slowly, he led her back to where her parents and Cecile were standing.

“Enjoying yourself?” he asked.

“Yes,” she replied. The
because I’m with you
was left unspoken.

“Good.” He scanned the room. “I haven’t yet seen your friend Mrs. Alcott. Perhaps she’s mingling in the crowd.”

Cameron looked around. “No. She’s not here. And I don’t see Louis, either.”

“Louis?”

“Her man of affairs. He’s always hovering close by.”

“Tell me about her,” he said abruptly.

“Mrs. Alcott? Oh, she’s a character. In a wonderful way.”

“How so?”

“Like I mentioned, she’s an old family friend. But over time, she’s become something … more.”

Val simply raised an eyebrow.

“Well, let me see. What
can
I tell you about her? She’s from an old Boston family.”

“Brahmin,” Val muttered, just as they reached the refreshment table.

“We’re not all bad, you know,” Cameron said with a smile. “But let me get back to Mrs. Alcott. She loves to redecorate her homes. Now that I think about it, I honestly believe that shopping for furniture is one of her social outlets. We spend hours together, picking out the right look, the right fabric, the right color—I think she enjoys the discussion even more than the acquisition, if that makes any sense.”

“It does. Go on.”

“She’s very honest. One time I’d undercharged her for an antique rosewood chiffonier. I realized the error long after I’d billed her and was going to take the loss, but Louis discovered the error, and Mrs. Alcott insisted on paying me the difference.”

“Honesty is a good trait.”

“I think so.” Cameron smiled. “Also, she’s beautiful.”

“Isn’t this her seventy-fifth birthday?” Val said, sounding skeptical.

“Yes, yes,” she said, shaking her head. “Mrs. Alcott
is
older, but age has nothing to do with it. She carries herself regally, and she wears tons of jewelry and stunning clothes, but that isn’t it, either.” Cameron paused. “She’s
real
. Yes, that’s it. Despite all of this—” she made a gesture to encompass the whole room—“I think all she wants is to have a few close friends she can enjoy spending time with. To share her life with.” Or maybe that was what
she
wanted. To push the glitter aside and be left with what was true.

“Maybe she ditched her own party,” Val suggested.

“No. She’d never do that. She’s very proper.” All of a sudden, Cameron had a terrible thought. “What if something’s happened to her? Perhaps we should try to find her? Or Louis?” Unfortunately, they were at Hermione’s Newtown estate, and while she didn’t know her way around the house or the grounds, for Hermione, she needed to try. She was about to walk away
when Val grabbed her arm.

“Wait,” he said, motioning with his head to the main doors, just as Hermione made her grand entrance.

The older woman looked wonderful tonight, her dress a shimmering wave to the floor, her hair secured by a glittering clasp. As always, she was dripping with jewels. Cameron bit back a smile; Hermione did love things that sparkled.

Clarissa’s voice brought her back to the present. “Cameron,” her mother said by way of greeting. “Where have you been? You didn’t stop to say hello when you walked in, and you’ve been dancing for nearly half an hour!”

“Has it really been that long?” Cameron wondered aloud.

Her mother picked up on her lack of focus immediately. “What is the matter with you, Cameron? Oh,” she said, as if finally noticing Val. “You.”

Val inclined his head.

“Mother,” Cameron said, trying to take charge of the situation before it spiraled out of control. “I don’t think you had the opportunity to meet Val Grayson at the Kirkland Awards. May I present him to you now?”

The formal presentation seemed to mollify Clarissa somewhat, as she shook his hand. When Cameron’s dad appeared by Clarissa’s side, Val shook Frederick’s hand, too.

“You must be the reason we haven’t seen much of our daughter lately.”

“No, Father. I’ve been working so much, and—”

“I take full responsibility, Mr. Stahl,” Val interjected.

Her father made a harrumphing sound, just as Nigel came up to stand next to Val. “You look lovely tonight, Clarissa.” That was Nigel, smooth as silk. “You, too, Cecile,” he said, not uncharitably. Cecile gave him a tentative smile, her face lighting up.

Cameron’s mother gave a sniff and Cici’s smile faded fast. “Nigel. I should have known you’d be involved in this somehow.”

“Involved? With what?”

“Why, with any intrigue that’s brewing,” Hermione Alcott said, sweeping up on a dazzling cloud of shimmer. “Nigel is much cleverer than he lets on. Aren’t you, dear man?”

“Indeed,” Nigel said, giving Hermione a little bow. “But rest assured, intrigue or not, I wouldn’t miss your birthday party for the world.”

Hermione turned to kiss Clarissa and Fredrick before turning her gaze to Cameron. “Oh, I see you’ve brought a friend.”

“Mrs. Alcott, may I present Val Grayson.”

Instead of shaking Hermione’s hand, Val moved forward, bent down, and kissed each of her cheeks. “Hermione,” he murmured. “Always a delight.”

“Valentine, you charmer. I should’ve known you’d be here tonight.”

Cameron’s mouth dropped open. “You—you know each other already?” And
Valentine
?

“Aloysius, her husband, was a former director of the DEA,” Val informed her. “We overlapped for several years before his death.”

“Always said he’d go out on the job and he did,” Hermione sighed. “He died doing what he loved.”

“He loved
you
, Hermione,” Nigel piped in.

“And this boy here,” Hermione said, reaching out to take Val’s hand. “Took him under his wing. Told me he was the sharpest one of the new crop of agents. I’m glad to see you’ve proven yourself.” She turned back to Clarissa and Frederick. “Are you enjoying yourselves tonight?”

“Of course, Hermione. Thank you again for having us. We’re honored to be celebrating your birthday with you.”

Hermione gave Cameron a little wink. “Marvelous, isn’t it? And here I am, surrounded by the people I love the most.” Cameron knew that wasn’t true—not by a long shot—but her parents were oblivious to Hermione’s irony. Hermione turned her attentions to Cecile, who looked simultaneously beautiful and miserable, a combination she was growing used to expecting. “Smile, dear,” she told Cecile. “Go drink something. Some punch, I think, will do the trick.” Cecile dutifully trotted off to get some. “Ah, I must mingle,” Hermione finally said. “More guests to greet.”

And in a glittery swirl, she was gone.

Now both her mother and father eyed Val.

“Valentine, is it?” her father said. “Fanciful name.”

He just shrugged. “I usually go by Val.”

“Quite so, quite so.”

“You must come for dinner next Friday,” Clarissa said suddenly.

“Yes, yes, you must come,” Frederick insisted. “Any friend of Hermione’s …”

Val glanced over at Cameron. “Would you like me to?”

Stunned by this turn of events, Cameron simply nodded.

He turned back to Clarissa. “I’d be happy to join you.”

Clarissa, who’d looked slightly displeased that he had asked Cameron’s permission before responding, turned on a dime. Now, she simply beamed. “Wonderful. I’ll make the arrangements. Cameron will give you the details. She
always
joins us for Friday dinners.”

Always. Until recently, when she’d missed more than a few. Perhaps this was Clarissa’s way of reclaiming some of her hold. Goodness knew she didn’t let Cici out of her sight. Cameron glanced toward the punch bowl. Cecile was standing there alone, drinking punch out of a crystal cup. Cameron sighed. As soon as she got a moment with her sister, she’d ask if she wanted to come for a visit. During the summer she’d be at her brownstone only half the time, but at least it would be a place for Cici to get some breathing room, away from their mother. And by the blank look on Cici’s face, she sure needed it.

Her father had taken Val aside, undoubtedly to ask him about his drinking habits; for some reason, Frederick liked to know everyone’s alcoholic proclivities. Nigel had disappeared, and she was left alone with Clarissa.

“Your dress is nice,” Clarissa said. “Except your toenails don’t match. I’d have chosen a different color.”

“I didn’t have time,” Cameron said.

“You should make time before the Symphony Board meeting.” Clarissa looked over to where Val and Frederick were deep in conversation. Perhaps Val was telling her father he didn’t like whisky, which would surely be the kiss of death. “I don’t know where you found this man,” Clarissa said, “but he seems to have friends in high places. Where is he from?”

“Star Harbor,” Cameron responded.

“
That
place,” Clarissa said disdainfully. “You’ve been spending an obscene amount of time there. I can only presume he’s the reason.”