He saw the confusion on her face—the brief narrowing of her eyes and furrowing of her brows. The way she seemed to search his face because she didn’t believe he could possibly be telling the truth. He held her closer, willing her body to listen to his and to hear the truth: that for all his life, Margaret Story had been Cameron Winslow’s favorite fantasy.
And suddenly he knew she’d somehow heard the whispering of his heart because her eyes brightened and she smiled at him with the beautiful lips that he’d loved twice with his own sweeping up into the sweetest smile he’d ever known.
“Truly?”
“Why do you think I teased you so badly?” he asked, offering a smile to match hers.
“I’m going to The Five Sisters tomorrow,” she said, her voice breathy as she dropped his eyes and looked over his shoulder. “Come with me.”
“I was planning to go to Harrell tomorrow for a wine tasting. You come with me,” he rumbled near her ear, holding her tighter when he felt her shiver in his arms.
“Yes,” she whispered, and the flush of happiness in her voice made his heart swell with the sort of devotion he’d heretofore reserved for his family.
The music ended, and, clapping lightly, the couples around them stopped dancing.
Cameron dropped his arms regretfully and took a step back to look at her pink cheeks and lovely eyes, shiny with wonder. For years, he’d seen consternation on her face, disappointment, hurt, and resentment. But now her face was alive, lit from the inside with happiness, and he’d made it happen. Cameron Winslow made Margaret Story happy . . . and in that moment, it was the most important accomplishment of his entire life: that he’d made this extraordinary creature happy. And it was the most important ambition for the rest of his life: to make it happen again and again and again.
“Marguerite, nous devons partir. Maintenant.”
Priscilla was standing beside them with tears in her eyes, worrying the straps of her purse in her hands.
“Qu’est-ce qui s’est passé?”
“Souviens-toi ta promesse.”
Cameron had just enough French to understand that Priscilla wanted to go immediately, and when Margaret asked her what had happened, Priscilla reminded Margaret to “remember her promise.”
Margaret looked up at Cameron helplessly. “I’m sorry. I have to go.”
Cameron looked out over the ballroom, but Olson was nowhere to be found, the fucking coward. Make a woman cry, then leave her sister to sort it out. If he ran into the bastard later, he’d clock him good for Priscilla.
“Let me drive you,” he offered.
Margaret took her sister’s hand, lacing their hands together firmly, and shook her head. “We’ll take a cab.”
He looked down at her with genuine concern and softened his voice. “Meggie, please, let me—”
With her free hand, she reached for Cameron’s arm, her eyes beseeching him not to offer again. “I’ll be in the lobby tomorrow morning at nine.”
Before he could say another word, she was gone.
Chapter 9
Margaret assumed that whatever had transpired between Shane and Priscilla was quick and ugly, but Priscilla refused to discuss it. She cried softly, with her head on Margaret’s lap, from the Ritz to their parents’ estate in Haverford, but Margaret kept her promise, and instead of asking the million questions lined up in her head, she gently stroked her sister’s hair while whispering soothing bits of nonsense about how everything would be all right, though she had no such confidence.
When they reached Haverford, Priscilla kissed her sister and told her not to worry before running into the house. Knowing she was unwelcome at Forrester, Margaret didn’t exit the cab, instead directing the driver to turn around and take her back to the city. The bachelor auction portion of the evening would be in full swing now, but she was in no mood to return to the gala, so she gave the driver her apartment address and gratefully fell into bed as soon as she arrived home.
The next morning, despite Priscilla’s unexplained drama, Margaret awoke with a light heart and delicious memories of dancing in Cameron’s arms for a few brief, perfect minutes the night before. She hugged herself as she recalled her surprising boldness.
It seemed that the more time she spent with him, the more confident she became in who she was, and the more she found the courage to be the woman she wanted to be: a woman who broke up with a man she didn’t love, who stood up to her father, who walked away from a job she didn’t want and toward one she did, who batted her eyes and teased the man she was quickly falling in lo—
The sound of screeching brakes in her head was deafening.
Wait! Time-out. What?
“No!” she exclaimed as she sat straight up in bed.
Oh God. Where had her mind been going? And when exactly had she given it permission to go there? Falling in love with Cameron Winslow? That wasn’t even possible, was it?
For heaven’s sake, they’d been on friendly terms only for a handful of weeks, she thought, clenching her sheets in her fists.
Falling in love with him?
No. Absolutely not. It’s way too soon.