When I open the gate to the pool, Mr. Avondale is waiting beneath the awning. He’s still dressed in a three-piece suit, a cigar dangling from his fingertips. His gaze runs up and down my length. With a twitch of his hand, he flicks ashes onto the pavement.
“Hey,” I say and give him a cool head nod. Mr. Avondale can be a dick.
“Good evening, Cameron.” The crown of his head barely reaches the top of my shoulder. I get some satisfaction when he has to tilt his chin to look me in the eye. “Out for a walk?”
“Yeah, couldn’t sleep.” I glance toward the door. Something about his tone puts me on edge, but before I go, there’s something I have to say, even though it pains me. I extend my hand. He takes it reluctantly. “Thank you for welcoming me into your home. I appreciate the hospitality. Your family has been very generous.”
“You’re welcome.” He draws on the cigar. The tip glows red in the darkness. “Tristan thinks highly of you.”
“He’s been a good friend.” I inch toward the door. “Well, I don’t want to keep you. Think I’ll hit the sack.”
“Hold up, son. We need to set a few ground rules.” His eyes bore into me, and I know as sure as shit what’s coming next. “Excuse my bluntness.”
“Okay.” I stare back at him, refusing to be intimidated, and brace for whatever’s coming.
“First.” He lifts his index finger. “Stay away from Trish. If I hear that your dick has been anywhere near her, I’ll cut it off. Understand?”
“Yes, sir.” I bite back a smile. Spoken like a caring father. I can respect that. And now that I’ve met Vanessa, my wandering dick wants nothing to do with Trish.
His eyes narrow, and he lifts another finger. “Second, you will not bring girls into this place.”
We’re in the middle of freaking Kentucky. I’m not sure where he thinks I’m going to find these girls, but it doesn’t matter. I’ve got no interest in ruining my meal ticket for the summer. “Done.”
“Third, you’re a guest in this home. I expect you to follow proper etiquette and remember your place.”
It’s his final request that sticks in my craw. I swallow back the bitter words on the tip of my tongue but don’t look away. I refuse to give this jerk the satisfaction, no matter how much money he has or how high his social standing. “Shouldn’t be a problem. I’m sure you won’t let me forget.” Squaring my shoulders, I turn and walk to the door.
For the next hour, I lie in bed and stare at the ceiling, too pissed for sleep. No matter how hard I try or how far I travel, I can’t seem to get away from the cloud of inferiority clinging to my heels. I worked two jobs putting myself through high school, and still managed to graduate as valedictorian. With the help of a kind guidance counselor, I won a scholarship to a respected university, where I met Tristan. Despite my best efforts, I’ll never be an equal to people like Mr. Avondale or Vanessa. I have dreams, and none of them include being a second-class citizen.
7
Vanessa
Today
After the fiasco of my work day, I can’t wait to get into my new hotel room where I can escape the pressure of work. It’s late, and the sun has been down for hours when I finally make my way across the street. I wait at the front desk of the upscale lobby while the clerk searches unsuccessfully for my reservation. The sassy black pumps that looked so great in the store window pinch my feet. I shift my weight from one foot to the other, attempting to ease the pain. The clerk narrows her eyes and glances at me over the top of her computer monitor.
“What do you mean you don’t have any rooms?” I ask. Weariness saps the strength from my legs. All I want is a hot shower and a place to lie down, a nice glass of cabernet and a chance to erase Cameron Blackwood from my head.
The line of the hotel clerk’s mouth tightens. “There is no reservation for you.” She enunciates each word with clipped precision.
“My assistant called this morning to confirm. Here’s the reservation number.” I show her the email on my phone. She’s unimpressed.
“Regardless, there’s nothing in the system.” She scans the computer screen then nods. “And I’m afraid we’re fully booked. There are three conventions in the city this week. We’re an exclusive establishment. We have a waiting list, and I’m afraid I don’t see your name anywhere on it.”
“Could you please check again?” The ache between my temples intensifies. Maybe I need to skip the wine and opt for aspirin instead. I’ve been waiting two weeks to transfer from the airport hotel to here, and I’m not eager to continue the hour long commute each day.
“I’m sorry,” the clerk repeats for the tenth time. “I can only follow what the system says.”
“Well, your system needs an upgrade, because I have a reservation, and here’s the confirmation.” I wave my phone in front of her face. “It’s right here.”
“I’m sorry, madam. Without a reservation, it’s out of my hands.”
“I’d like to speak to your manager.”
“I am the manager.” She taps the name badge pinned to her lapel. One corner of her lips curls in amusement, fueling my temper.
“Do you know who I am?” I detest name-droppers, but I’m running out of options. The hands of the brass clock on the wall behind her point to midnight. I could call Sam or Venetia, but I hate to wake them so late at night. The thought of spending the night on my office couch is less than appealing.
“Yes, madam, I know who you are. Your father was a regular patron. However, he always had a reservation.” The woman’s sneer hardens. She lifts the telephone receiver. “May I call a taxi for you? Perhaps one of the other hotels can better accommodate you.”
“They’re all full. Besides, I don’t want to stay somewhere else. I want to stay here—across the street from there—where I work.” I point to the twin towers, looming tall and ominous above the sidewalk.
“Is there a problem?” The deep, familiar voice sends a shiver down my back. I don’t have to turn around to know Cam’s standing directly behind me. I can feel the heat from his body against my shoulder.
“There’s no problem, Mr. Blackwood. This woman is trying to book a room without a reservation,” the woman says. “And I’ve told her three times that we’re booked solid through next week.”
“I have a reservation.” The pitch and volume of my voice rises until heads turn to stare.
“Susan, Ms. Seaforth is an associate of mine. Surely you can find something for her?” A whiff of his cologne hits my nose; subtle, spicy, and masculine. The throat of his shirt is unbuttoned, revealing a glimpse of black chest hair and tanned skin. The tail of his tie hangs from a breast pocket. “What about the Preston Suite?”
“But that’s reserved for Mr. Haskins.”
“I spoke with Mr. Haskins earlier today. He’s in Prague for the next month.” He leans an elbow on the counter, a cajoling smile playing about his lips. “I’ll talk to him about it tomorrow. Now, see what you can do for our guest.”
“Certainly, sir.” Susan returns his smile, a faint blush tinting her cheeks.
“Great.” While she taps on the keyboard, Cam turns his attention to me. “You’re out awfully late. Been hitting the bars?”
“No.” His accusation sparks my insecurity. I ignore the desire to smooth my hair. I’ve been mulling over financials non-stop for the better part of sixteen hours. I’m probably a mess. “I was working and lost track of time. What’s your excuse?”
“Last I checked, I don’t need one.” The arch of his left eyebrow lifts a little higher.
“It’s taken care of, Mr. Blackwood.” Susan beams at Cam. “You’re in 1408, Ms. Seaforth, fourteenth floor, left out of the elevators.” She slides my credit card and room key across the counter. Cam passes the credit card to me but retains the key.
“Susan, you’re a miracle worker. I’ll put in a good word with your boss.”
“You’re my boss, sir.” A blush spreads across her cheeks. My exhausted brain tries to process this information. Camer
on owns the hotel. It seems I can’t get away from him.
“So I am.” He winks at me, taking a final stab at my pride, before giving Susan his attention. “Tell me, beautiful, do you have any messages for me?”
“No, sir. No messages.” Her expression is dreamy, hopeful. “Please, let us know if there’s anything we can do to make your stay more pleasant, Mr. Blackwood, anything at all.”
“Have someone bring up Ms. Seaforth’s luggage, would you? She’s brought all of Sax Fifth Avenue with her.” He circumvents the pile of my suitcases, trunks, and boxes. With my room key still in his grasp, he strides toward the elevator. “Come along, Vanessa.”
His proprietary tone fires up my temper. I trot after him. I hate his air of command, the way he assumes I’m following his orders without a backward glance. But I can’t help admiring the way his trousers hug the hard muscles of his ass as he walks. At the bank of elevators, he presses the call button.
“I’ve got it from here, thank you.” The doors open. He steps inside, and I have no choice but to follow him. I reach for the key. He holds it aside, just out of my reach. When I make a grab for it, he lifts it higher. The corner of his mouth curls in a sadistic grin. I put my hands on my hips. “This isn’t first grade.”
“Funny how fate works, isn’t it?” White teeth bite into the firm flesh of his lower lip, lips that are kissable and soft. A chuckle shakes his broad chest. “In case you missed it, you’re at my mercy.” His gaze drops from my eyes to my mouth. “Here and in the boardroom.”
An ache I’d thought long forgotten unfurls between my legs. No, no! This isn’t the reaction I want to him, but it’s there, undeniable and insistent. I make another swipe for the key, this time a successful one. “I’m not in the mood for your games, Blackwood.”
“As I recall, you used to love my games.” One corner of his mouth twitches. “Especially the one where you’re the naughty housemaid, and I’m your angry boss.” Heat scalds my cheeks at the memory of all the ways he fucked me that night. “Do you still have that saucy little outfit? The one with the ruffled panties and the little apron? God, I loved that thing. Did you wear it for Giles?” His eyes narrow, and my internal temperature increases another degree. “No, I suppose not. He strikes me as a lights-out-straight-missionary kind of guy.” His guess is too accurate for my comfort. Sex with Giles had been adequate but nothing more.
“Stop it.” The numbers over the elevator door light with maddening slowness, chiming at each number. Two. Ding. Three. Ding.
“You do remember.” Delight dances in his eyes.
“No. You must be mistaking me with one of your paying customers.”
“Ouch. Wow.” He leans against the metal wall of the car. I can see his reflection in the polished surface of the doors. The smirk on his face reignites my irritation. “So much for detente.”
“Maybe it would be better if we don’t talk.” I cross my arms over my chest.
Two seconds of silence pass. Five. Ding. “Nope. Can’t do it.” He shifts to my side of the elevator, facing me. “Look, all I want is an apology.”
“No way. I don’t owe you squat.”
“By my count, you owe me a lot of things, including a billion dollars for the money I’ve lost due to your incompetence with Seaforth Media.”
“I’ve only been on board for two weeks. How can it be my fault? The least you can do is give me a chance to make things work.” Angry red spots cloud my vision. The space inside the elevator shrinks until I can’t breathe. Can it go any slower? I jab the button for the fourteenth floor. “What’s wrong with this thing?”
“I gave you a chance twelve years ago, and you fucked me over. Why should this time be any different?” His eyes are the color of an arctic iceberg. He places a hand on the elevator wall beside my head, crowding me until my back hits the cold steel.
“I never fucked you over. You misrepresented yourself. What did you expect?” My heart hammers against my ribs. “Did you think I’d just overlook the fact that you were a man-whore? Really? Even you can’t be that stupid.” He’s so close that I can smell the peppermint on his breath mingling with an undercurrent of bourbon.
“I’ve missed your smart mouth.” With a prolonged exhale, he ghosts the tip of his nose along the curve of my jaw, not quite but almost touching me.
“If business is so bad, maybe you need to put a little of the blame on yourself. You’re a partner. Shouldn’t you have been paying closer attention?” I press my palms against the wall and turn my head to squelch the overwhelming desire to kiss him. He’s big and intimidating, and I’m totally turned on by it.
He sweeps his tongue along his bottom lip. The gesture sends a shockwave of desire into my core. “Sharp claws for such a pretty little kitten.”
Attraction creeps along my skin. I want to curl my fingers in his lapels and yank his mouth to mine, tug on his glossy hair, and wrap my legs around his waist. Our harsh breathing fills the car.
The elevator jerks to a stop at the fourteenth floor, and the doors slide open. Cam straightens, tugs down the hem of his jacket, and rolls his head, like he’s loosening a kink in his neck. Before I can catch my breath, he’s walking down the hallway, away from me, like he owns the hotel and everything in it—because he does. The elevator doors start to close, forcing me into action. I slide a hand between them then follow on shaky legs.
At room 1408, I drop the key card on the floor, bend to retrieve it, and pray he’s not watching. When I try to swipe for entrance, the lock flashes red and beeps—once, twice, three times. Crap. Behind me, I hear Cam’s door open then his footsteps at my back. A strong hand takes the key card, swipes it. The light flashes green. I push the door open without a backward glance. His chuckle floats on my heels. I slam the door shut and fasten the deadbolt, locking him out of the room but not from my head.
The suite is spacious, tastefully furnished in tones of cream and black. A wide hallway leads into a living room. French doors open onto a balcony. The lights of the city twinkle against a black velvet sky. Before I can kick off my shoes, a bellhop arrives with my luggage. After tipping him, I leave the bags in the foyer and fall face first onto the king-size bed.
Hours pass before I fall asleep, and when I do, I dream of sex with Cam in the elevator. He’s rough, aggressive, and makes me come, one fluttering orgasm after another. By the time morning arrives, I’m exhausted and aroused and completely confused. I don’t want to be attracted to him, but the pull is still there, stronger than ever.
8
Cam
Twelve Years Ago
I make it my mission to avoid Vanessa. I don’t need those kinds of complications. I have plans for my life, and none of them include falling for a girl I just met. A girl, I might add, who’s so far out of my league I’d require a spaceship to be in the same galaxy.
At first, I thought she might be a way to boost my income, but I like her too much to use her that way. Besides, girls my age don’t pay for sex, not when they can get all they want for free. I could probably be her boyfriend, but I don’t have any desire for a relationship. Older women, like my clients, pay me for discretion and companionship without strings. Sex is secondary to them, although they all want it. As long as they pay cash, I’m willing to comply. The money goes into a safe deposit box at my bank and waits for the day when I can turn my college project into a reality.
The next night, I make myself scarce while Mrs. Avondale holds her dinner party. Instead of going into town as she suggested, I grab a book from the library and settle into my room for the night. Snippets of conversation drift up through the floor registers. To drown out the sounds of clinking silverware and laughter, I put in my earbuds and listen to a blues playlist.
I’m relieved to be excluded. At least this way, I don’t have to answer prying questions about my past or pretend to care about the atrocities of high-society living. No pitying looks, no condescending comments. Yes, I’m much better off where I am.
My stomach growls, int
errupting my reading. After removing my earbuds, I stand and stretch out the kinks in my back. Voices float through my window from the patio below. I mosey over to the window and gaze down. Vanessa stands near the diving board, looking like a Grecian goddess in a white dress. Her long hair trails over one shoulder in a loose braid. A man stands beside her. He’s about her height, slender, with brown hair. Even from this distance, I can make out the flash of diamond cufflinks.
Jealousy erupts when he places a hand on her back. I dig my fingers into the window sill. She tilts her head and laughs at whatever he’s saying. I lean forward, almost tumbling out the window in the process, hoping to hear their conversation. He’s standing too close to her for my comfort. Maybe I should go down there and run interference. Surely, she’s not interested in that tool. He’s got to be twenty years older than her. When he leans in to kiss her, a growl erupts from my throat.
Vanessa glances up at the window. I duck behind the curtains. What the hell am I doing? She’s free to kiss whomever she wants, even if it’s some middle-aged douchebag. I pace around the room a couple of times then do fifty energetic pushups to relieve the tension. A knock on the door interrupts my workout.
“What?” I snap.
“It’s me. Can I come in?” Vanessa’s voice travels through the door.
“Hang on.” I use my T-shirt to wipe the sweat off my brow then fling open the door. “Yeah?”
She’s standing there, lovelier than I’ve ever seen a woman, barefoot, still in her dress. A plate of sandwiches and snacks balances on her outstretched hand. “I brought you something to eat. The cook said you hadn’t been down all afternoon. I thought maybe you were hungry.”
Vote Then Read: Volume I Page 92