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.”

“Mother, the Front Street Boutique is in Star Harbor.”

“Oh yes. Your work.” She said it as if it were something dirty. “I suppose he works there, too?”

“In Star Harbor? No, he works in Boston.”

“Ah, yes. At least that explains his connection with the Alcotts,” Clarissa sniffed. “Politics is one thing, but I never did understand why Aloysius insisted on working in a government office.”

“Perhaps he liked it,” Cameron murmured.

“The way your father likes his work? Unlikely. Paper pushing is very different from doing billion-dollar financial deals.”

Cici appeared back at her mother’s side. “But who’s to say it’s better?” she said. It was the first time Cameron had heard her speak all night. Her face didn’t look blank anymore. Some of the dullness had left her gaze, and she actually looked … alive.

“Really, Cecile,” their mother said. “Don’t display your ignorance.”

Almost immediately, Cici slipped her mask back into place. Cameron frowned, and was about to say something, when she felt a strong presence by her side.

“It’s time for us to head out,” Val said.

“So soon?” Clarissa responded. “But the toasts haven’t even been made.”

Promising herself she’d touch base with her sister later this week, Cameron took Val’s cue. “Please give our regrets to Mrs. Alcott.”

“Good night,” Val said, taking her hand and pulling her through the ballroom.

They were a few yards away when she heard her father say unhappily, “Found out he’s a beer man.”

At that point, his hand was in hers, and honestly, she didn’t care what her parents thought of him. He’d handled himself perfectly. He wasn’t going to pretend he was someone he wasn’t just to please her parents. And his authenticity was like a lifeline. She grabbed it and held on with both hands as they left the now stifling room.

It took him only a few moments to get them out of the ballroom, and even fewer to get his truck pulled up from the valet service Hermione had so kindly provided to her guests, but it was still late when they arrived at Cameron’s brownstone. Cameron opened her front door and looked up at him with a smile on her beautiful face. He knew what he was supposed to do with a woman like her. Share a chaste good-night kiss, get her safely inside, and then head back to his place. Problem was, after what they shared in Star Harbor, he knew he wasn’t ever going to be satisfied with that kind of arrangement.

And hopefully, neither was she.

Val wrapped his arms around her and felt a little shiver run through her body. Inhaling deeply, he caught her scent, light and floral and terribly expensive. Irresistible. He bent his head and pressed his lips to hers. Immediately, she welcomed him in, opening those sweet lips. He claimed her as if it were his right, demanding her surrender. But she wouldn’t give. Instead, she pushed back, challenging him to meet her instead of letting him simply take. Within moments, it became clear that this kiss was anything but chaste.

Which was just fine with him.

It had been a mighty struggle to keep his hands off her all evening, and now he didn’t even care to try. He had one hand buried in the mass of her hair and the other on her arm. When he slid it down, she gasped at the contact of skin on skin, the perfect opportunity to deepen the kiss. Meanwhile, her delicate hands had snaked up his back. She moved against him, and he wanted nothing more than to cover her breasts with his hands.

“Ask me in,” he demanded.

“Please come in,” she murmured, and that combination of sexiness and politeness just threw him over the edge. With a growl, he shoved the door open, pulled them both inside, and slammed it closed with his foot. He practically dragged her through the house.

“Which way?”

“Upstairs,” she managed to get out between kisses. When she couldn’t move fast enough, he took her in his arms and carried her. She directed him to her bedroom. The only things he took note of were the fact that everything in it appeared to be antique and her bed was large enough to hold him.

“You’ve been driving me crazy all night,” he said tipping her head so that he could tongue his way down her neck. He breathed in her scent again—damn, he couldn’t get enough! “With your hair and your legs and that dress.” He’d asked and she’d answered, wearing a dress almost the exact same color as her eyes.

“You like it?”

“Hell, yes, I like it,” he said, finding the zipper and easing it down. The dress dropped to the floor and she was left in her lavender lace bra and panties, and if that wasn’t the damned sexiest thing he’d ever seen! As fast as he could, he kicked off his shoes, pulled off his jacket, and practically tore his tie off.

Val pushed her back on the bed, slid next to her, and sealed his mouth to hers. She moaned and shifted, pressing her chest against his.

Lord, he wanted to touch. He needed to touch.

So he did, his palms fully covering her lace-clad breasts. Gently he flicked her nipples with his thumbs, loving the way her breath caught in her throat.

All of a sudden, they were both wearing too many clothes.

He stripped off his pants, but when he went to undo the buttons on his shirt, she stopped him.

“Please, let me,” she said, her voice throaty. And slowly, ever so slowly, she took out the silver studs on his cuffs and unbuttoned his shirt. As each sliver of skin was revealed, she kissed it, and he couldn’t help the shudder that went through him. Then she swept the shirt from his body and kissed his neck, and it felt so good he forgot about nearly everything but burying himself to the hilt in her.

She was a vision, her creamy skin wrapped up like a package in her lacy underwear. He unwrapped his present, flicking open her bra. He admired her gorgeous breasts for only a moment before he covered one rock-hard nipple with his mouth.

Cameron drew in her breath, and when he thumbed her other nipple, she sighed. But when he slid his hand right down her panties to test her readiness, ah, then she moaned—a sweet, erotic sound that was music to his ears. A few short minutes were all she could take.

“Now, Val,” she begged. “Now. Please.”

He pulled off her panties, readied himself with a condom, and covered her body with his. Her arms were wrapped around him—her long legs, too—and he had the sensation of being completely enveloped in her. Then he began to move, each thrust more pleasurable than the last. It wasn’t long before he felt her shaking beneath him. All it took was a few strategic twists and she exploded, gasping his name, writhing and bucking beneath him, her internal muscles clamping down so hard he almost saw stars.

And then he really did see stars as he pumped himself into her one final time and took his own release.