Shane kissed her lightly on the cheek, and Margaret waved goodbye as he made his way through the revolving doors.
She felt a little better after talking to Shane—things between them had been tied up as neatly as possible—so to celebrate she stopped off at her favorite Chinese restaurant for takeout. Yes, she still had a huge unresolved conflict with her father, but she wasn’t quite ready to give up on him yet. Maybe his words to Shane two weeks ago were said out of anger and frustration. She was his child, after all. He couldn’t have meant what he said. He loved her on some level, didn’t he? Of course he did. And she certainly loved him. As much as she wanted to dedicate all her time to The Five Sisters, she didn’t want to resign from her position at Story Imports in an angry huff, as Alice had. She wanted peace with her only living parent.
Now that the situation with Shane was resolved, and she’d decided to wait out her father’s ill humor, Margaret had the space to turn her thoughts to Cameron—the very place her thoughts had no business at all.
Memories of their kiss had haunted her dreams, both waking and sleeping, for fourteen long days, but no matter how hard she tried to forget it had happened—as she’d stupidly and unrealistically suggested—she couldn’t. His strong arms holding her, the evidence of his arousal pressed against her stomach, the velvet steel of his tongue sliding against hers. She’d relived that kiss a thousand times, and it was still her favorite daydream.
Her assumption that he had feelings for her was, apparently, correct, but the extent or exact nature of those feelings was still unknown. As for her own feelings? She could barely articulate them beyond the fact that she couldn’t stop thinking about him, wondering about him, yearning for him. Despite the fact that she loved her vineyard with a fierce protectiveness, she’d easily acquiesced to his suggestion that he handle the renovations of a major structure. It shocked her, and yet it felt somehow organic and right. What was it about Cameron that made her trust him?
Perhaps it was the way he loved Jessica, doing whatever he had to do to make her dreams of a vineyard wedding come true. If he would go to the ends of the earth for his sister, what wouldn’t Cameron Winslow do for the woman he loved? It made the words to be loved by you circle endlessly in Margaret’s head.
Perhaps it was his impulsiveness. The way he’d shown up at her cottage and demanded use of the winery, or suddenly clutched her against his body in the vineyard, offering to pay for the renovations. Most of the parents on Blueberry Lane, including her own, had called Cameron hotheaded for various adolescent offenses, and she supposed he was in some ways, but he owned that impetuousness as a grown man and Margaret was drawn to it. She loved his passion. She loved his single-mindedness.
Perhaps it was the way he looked at her lately, with such desperate hunger. It made her want to soothe the ache inside him by offering whatever he wanted from her, whatever he needed from her. And what was it he needed? Her vineyard? Her friendship? Or . . . more? He didn’t seem to be able to offer more, hastily explaining that his business was floundering and his free time was nonexistent. And yet his eyes, his lips, his very body, told a different story—about a man who wanted much more than a business venture or a friendship. It felt like he wanted her, and it made her whole body tighten and flush to imagine him giving in to his desire and urging her to give in to hers.
Perhaps it was as simple as the deep rumble of his voice when he murmured such deliciously sexy things to her: You’re fucking stunning . . . Because he was touching you . . . Say yes. Her breath hitched, and she closed her eyes as she heard the rich color of his voice in her head. Meggie. Meggie. Meg—
“—gie? Meggie?” A strong hand clamped down on her elbow. “Are you okay?”
She blinked her eyes open, focusing, disbelievingly, on the very object of her fantasies. Just inside the door of Hunan Gourmet, staring at her with his head cocked to the side and his eyebrows raised like maybe he’d said her name a couple of times, stood Cameron Winslow.
“Cameron!”
“Yeah. Hi,” he said, releasing her arm.
“Oh, I was . . . I was a million miles away.” In a business suit and tie, he was too handsome for words, and her heart skipped a beat as she swept her eyes up and down his body. “What are you doing here?”
“Getting some dinner,” he said slowly, grinning at the way she’d checked him out and moving out of the doorway to stand beside her. “Are you okay?”
She gulped, still feeling flustered that she’d been in the middle of a full-on daydream when it had suddenly come to life. “I’m fine. Just . . . daydreaming.”
“Looked like a good one.”
You have no idea.
“Best Chinese in the neighborhood,” he said, reaching for a menu.