Chapter 2

“Cameron,” her mother’s voice warned. Though to a casual listener it would merely sound cultured, Cameron could hear the hard steel behind it.

Cameron swallowed, ignoring Clarissa and focusing on the undeniable presence of Val Grayson in front of her. His eyes spoke volumes. He was tempting—more than tempting—and she hadn’t been this interested in a man in, well, forever. But according to Clarissa, there were two kinds of people in the world—those who were worthy of associating with an Endicott, and those who were not. She had no doubt in which camp Clarissa believed Val belonged.

Her mother expected her to take the first dance with the person responsible for the evening—Congressman Edward Kirkland, a powerful and, yes, worthy man who was doing his utmost to make a match between her and his son, Edward Kirkland, Jr.

The Stahls and the Kirklands had been friends for many years, and Cameron had grown up with Junior and his younger sister, Taylor. Now, Junior was an up-and-coming assistant district attorney who was reportedly a lock to be elected district attorney in November and was poised to follow closely in his father’s political footsteps. It would be her mother’s greatest coup to see her married off to the scion of the Kirkland family. There was nothing wrong with Junior—except for the fact that they had zero chemistry between them. At one point, back when he’d been younger, she’d thought there might be something more. That something—whatever it was—had fizzled once he’d made his political ambitions public. The carefree boy she used to know had been replaced by a man obsessed with propriety and appearance.

“Cameron?” Val stood there, calmly waiting. Cameron looked at his outstretched hand and something inside did a funny flip-flop. She glanced over at Clarissa, who was now staring daggers at her. She should resist him, but quite honestly, she just couldn’t.

So she simply did what she’d been dying to do since Val touched her the first time earlier that night—she reached out her hand. When their hands met, another bolt shot right through her. Quickly, she glanced up at his face. His look was implacable, but his mouth held the merest hint of a smile. Gracefully, she followed him to the center of the floor. He embraced her, and slowly, they began to move.

The gentle friction of his body against hers, the warm hand pressing against her back, the way he held her firmly, but not tightly—God, it felt good! And where flesh touched flesh? A searing heat straight to her core. They swayed together, merged.

“Feeling better now?” he whispered directly into her ear. The warmth of his breath on her lobe made her shiver.

“Yes,” she responded.

“Hmm,” he said. “I think you could be even better.” Gently, he used the fingers of the hand holding hers to stroke soothingly. The gesture sensitized her already burning skin. She stiffened—she couldn’t help it—but he simply curled his hand around hers, bringing it to rest against his chest. She stared up at him, her mouth open.

“Wh-what are you doing?”

He looked down at her and raised an eyebrow. “Dancing,” he said simply.

As her body went into overdrive, Cameron shut her mouth. It certainly felt like more than dancing. She could fantasize about licking his skin without missing a beat, but she sure wasn’t prepared for her body’s reaction when he touched her.

Maybe because Clarissa was watching.

That put a damper on things. She tried to concentrate on the next day’s early-morning meeting—what fabric she’d present, what she’d offer in terms of import fees—but Val’s warmth kept creeping into her consciousness, curling around her like wood smoke.

Through lowered lashes, she snuck a glance up at him. His eyes were half-closed, but she had no doubt he was taking everything in, memorizing every cranny of the room and its occupants, including her. He was far too perceptive to miss a thing. Tonight he might look the part of elite society with his elegant suit and artfully tousled hair, but it was obvious to Cameron that he was cut from an entirely different cloth.

The Fitzgerald song ended, but Val didn’t let her go. The band segued into a slow Brazilian bossa nova tune. She’d heard this one before, even knew the words. She let the music seep into her, desperately trying to concentrate on the lyrics.

“We’re still dancing,” she whispered. Way to state the obvious, Cameron. Val was no boring, polite society man who took her out for a spin and then returned her directly to her seat.

“You are sharp,” he murmured, pulling her in more tightly. His heart beat steadily under the hand he’d so effortlessly captured. Through the gauzy material of her dress, she could feel his body’s heat.

She glanced over at Clarissa, who was watching her with narrowed eyes. Quickly, she turned away, trying not to worry about what her mother thought as she gave in to Val’s pull. She could get lost in him. With him. Why should she fight it? Somehow, she knew it would feel right. Just when she’d resigned herself to surrender, she felt Val’s fingers give a little extra pressure on her back.

“May I cut in?” The urbane voice of Congressman Kirkland resonated in the air around them.

Cameron opened her mouth to speak, but Val beat her to the punch. “I believe the lady is spoken for,” he muttered, his lips tight. The interruption had broken the spell he’d cast. Slowly, she realized how awkward this must look.

She tried to pull away, but he held her tightly enough that she couldn’t break free without causing a scene. Horrified, she watched as the two men did a face-off on the dance floor. Val caused her senses to reel, but it didn’t mean that she’d taken leave of them entirely.

Ignoring the tension between the two men, and not bothering to acknowledge that Val had spoken, she turned her head to smile at the older man. “I’d love to dance,” she said breezily. “You don’t mind, do you, Val?” Her tone was easy, but firm.

Val took the not-so-subtle hint. “Not at all,” he said smoothly, releasing her into the waiting arms of the congressman. “Enjoy the dance.”

As soon as Val’s body was no longer touching hers, she could think clearly again. With a start, she realized that at least one of her finishing school classes—The Art of Extricating Oneself from a Potentially Embarrassing Situation—hadn’t entirely been a waste. Not that she’d ever tell Clarissa that.

Deliberately, she focused her attention on the man in front of her. “Ted, it’s wonderful to see you again.” Small talk wasn’t much fun, but it came easily to her.

He graced her with a perfect smile, his teeth bright and even. “And it’s wonderful to see you again. You look lovely tonight, my dear. I’m only sorry that Junior couldn’t make it. Had to get to bed early, you know. Big day tomorrow.”

“Big day?”

The congressman looked disappointed that she hadn’t remembered. “Press conference. Junior’ll do great. He’s a shoo-in for DA, but it never hurts to prime the pump.”

“Ah, yes. Of course. Well, I wish him the best of luck.”

“Luck? Luck has nothing to do with it. All in the genes, my dear, all in the genes.” He grinned proudly.

Cameron smiled back indulgently.

“So how’s that boutique of yours doing? Heard from your father that it’s been doing well.”

“Both boutiques are doing well, thanks for asking. You know my first store, Upstairs Downstairs, is well established now on Newbury Street, and I was thrilled to have such a good first summer season in Star Harbor last year. In fact, things went so well in Star Harbor, I’m looking for an additional location—maybe on Nantucket—to further expand the business.”

“You do a lot of imports?” he asked, swinging her toward the center of the dance floor. People around them cleared a path, cognizant of the congressman’s power and prestige.

“Quite a bit. Mostly from Europe, but the occasional piece from South America.”

“And do you have the merchandise shipped to Boston or to Cape Cod?”

“So far, mostly Boston. The transport’s easier, for one thing. And my clients’ demands were here, for another. But I expect this summer season to be different.”

“How so?”

“My name is out on the Cape now, and lots of clients with summer homes have given me referrals. I anticipate having a lot more import business this summer through Star Harbor.”

“Interesting. Very interesting. Maybe I’ll have you talk to Grace about sprucing up our Star Harbor place.”

“Oh, I’d forgotten you have a house there. I don’t think I’ve ever had the pleasure of seeing it.”

“We’re rarely there. I like the beach, but Grace prefers our place in Lexington. She says the gardens are nicer.”

The music ended, and the congressman walked her back to her seat. Clarissa was waiting with a beatific smile.

“Clarissa, my darling woman,” Ted said, taking her hand in his. “I am very glad you were able to make it tonight.”

“Of course, Ted,” her mother said, rising, her evening dress falling into an elegant drape behind her. “We wouldn’t have missed this for the world. I’m only sorry that Frederick couldn’t make it. Unfortunately, he had to travel.”

Cameron noted that although Clarissa mentioned her father, she didn’t mention West, Cameron’s wayward older brother. West—full name Frederick Weston Stahl IV—was undoubtedly off with his Harvard buddies tonight, doing something reckless and expensive as usual.

As they continued to exchange pleasantries, Cameron glanced around to find Val.

She didn’t see him. Maybe he’d left.

Part of her was disappointed and part of her was relieved. A few moments together, a few dances, and she’d been lost. He was more dangerous than she’d ever imagined. Because even from their brief interaction, she knew the danger wasn’t to her head or to her heart or even to her body.

It was to her soul, the one thing she possessed that was never going to be up for grabs.