He wore a blue striped shirt under a navy-blue suit jacket and a blue and green striped tie that picked up the color in his eyes and made them greener than ever.
“So,” he said, “what did you order?”
“My favorites: moo shu pork, tangerine beef, pineapple fried rice.”
“You like pineapple,” he noted, grinning as he referred to the pastry she’d eaten at the cottage two weeks ago. Then he turned around the words she’d used on him when he’d bought out the pastry case at Swiss Haus: “That’s enough for an army.”
“I like the leftovers,” she said, then heard herself add, “but I wouldn’t mind sharing.”
The playful grin on his face faded a little, as he locked his eyes with hers. “You sure?”
She nodded.
He placed the menu back on the counter with the others. “Great. I’d like that.”
“Are you sure?” she asked. “Because it seems like you’ve been avoiding me.”
“Order up! Story!” yelled the woman behind the register, holding out a brown paper bag.
Cameron took it from her hands, nodded at the woman in thanks, then held the door open for Margaret. She preceded him onto the sidewalk, her awkward comment sitting heavily between them.
He sighed as he shifted his briefcase and the food to his outside hand and let his fingers brush against hers as they started walking home. It was the only invitation she needed to reach for him, entwining her fingers through his, butterflies winging back and forth through her ribs as his palm settled flush against hers.
“It’s true. I have been,” he admitted softly, “Avoiding you.”
“Because you kissed me?”
“Because I kissed you.” He paused for a moment, then added, “Even though it didn’t happen.”
Her lips wiggled immediately at his deadpan delivery.
“I guess neither of us was able to forget it.”
He squeezed her fingers gently. “How’re things with Olson?”
“Fine,” she said. “We’re over the worst of it.”
“Still complicated?”
She knew what he was asking. He was asking her if she and Shane still had unresolved romantic business, and though it wasn’t in Margaret’s nature to be willfully deceptive, she liked Cameron’s jealousy, so she decided not to answer his question directly.
“My father adores Shane.”
“And would adore having Shane for a son-in-law.”
Margaret nodded. It was the truth, wasn’t it?
“But how does Meggie feel about Olson?” He had to drop her hand to push open the door to their apartment building, but grabbed it again as soon as they were inside. “Your place or mine?”
“Mine.”
“Probably a good idea. Huicho said he needed one more week to finish, which means my bathroom’s still a bit of a wreck.”
“Wow! It’s almost done?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Close to it.”
Hmm. In comparison, her project was going as slow as molasses. It had taken three weekends for Geraldo to finish the demolition when she had assumed it would take only one. And he hadn’t even started framing the closet yet. Her future wine cellar was just an ugly, gaping hole in the corner of her kitchen.
“Miss Story!” called Franklin from the concierge desk. “You got that Saturday FedEx?”
“I’m sorry?”
“The package that came on Saturday. You got it?”
“No.” She shrugged. “But I wasn’t expecting anything.”
Franklin furrowed his brows together. “Huh, I thought it was for you, but maybe I’m remembering wrong. I’ll take a look at the book.”
Margaret grinned at him. “Probably for someone else. I don’t know how you keep track of all of us!”
“Probably.” Franklin nodded and smiled. “Thanks, Miss Story. You have a nice evening.”
Cameron pulled her toward the elevator and pushed the call button.
“You never answered my question,” he said, looking down at her with one raised eyebrow.
“I see Shane every day. He’s a huge asset to Story Imports. He’s . . . a good man.”
“A good man,” scoffed Cameron.
She dropped his hand and crossed her arms over her chest, giving him a censorious look. “Be nice.”
“God, it’s hot when you do that.”
Her eyes widened. “Do what?”
“Christ,” he sighed. “And that.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, feeling her cheeks flush with heat.
“And that.” He stared at her and groaned. “Please stop.”
“I don’t even know what I’m doing,” she said.
“Don’t you?” he asked, his voice low and gravelly.
The elevator doors opened, and she took a step inside, instantly aware of Cameron’s body behind hers—the strength of it, the heat, the raw maleness of him. She didn’t turn around as the doors closed. She could hear the soft sound of her own ragged breathing, feel the raging thunder of her heart. Muscles she hadn’t used in months clenched and released in flutters, wetting her panties, her body so primed for his touch that it would take almost nothing to make her come.