She hadn’t felt one bit of cold air in that moment.
“Yeah, definitely not weird,” he finally said, his voice huskier than before.
Whitney breathed out. He’d spoken first. She’d won that round of chicken.
She looked over her shoulder at him. “So I’m good to go in this one?”
“You can’t wear this dress in Appleby,” he said, shaking his head.
She frowned and turned. “Why not?”
“This dress is not you.”
He was right.
She’d been dressing in conservative business attire because of her grandfather and dad. She’d been trying to be taken seriously for the past decade by the very men who should have been encouraging her to be involved in the company and proud of the things she’d tried to do. Not that the skirts and pants had worked. But this dress? No way would this have convinced her grandfather she should be introducing a new product to their line.
These guys though? Cam, Aiden, Ollie, and Grant? They were all in. They not only thought it was a great idea, they were very happy to have her leading the charge.
She couldn’t wear this dress to the big dessert-baking competition and auction they were holding in the town square tomorrow. But she would love to hear Cam explain to her why.
It was too clingy. It was too red. It was too sexy. It was too… not Whitney Lancaster.
Which was why she loved it. She wanted to wear this dress. She wanted to have a man—she corrected that almost immediately—she wanted Cam looking at her in this dress exactly the way he was looking at her right now.
Like he was seriously considering how sturdy the desk behind her was and if they were really alone here.
Her pulse skittered under her skin.
They were alone. And that desk was very sturdy.
But, yeah, she suddenly wanted to hear Cam say all of that to her. Would he? Would he just put it out there?
She’d, of course, turn him down. She was not the sex-on-her-desk kind of girl. Either.
But she wanted to be that too…
Not with Cam, of course. That would be really, really, really stupid.
Whitney swallowed and worked on keeping her cool.
She was now thinking about sex on her desk. With Cam. Because of course she was.
He was looking at her like he was too.
And if she were being totally honest with herself—and she really did try to be that—Cam was the only one she could imagine having sex with. Period. Because he was one of three guys she’d had sex with. Ever. And she absolutely knew that it was pathetic and that was probably a huge part of why she was uptight and tense and kind of cool and bitchy at times.
But being Whitney Lancaster meant there weren’t many guys in Appleby who were willing to approach her for dates, and she was not at all the type to go to another town. That would require girlfriends. And a desire to go to bars or clubs or… wherever people went to meet people.
Which meant she’d had sex two other times since her high school boyfriend. Both had been with men she’d met at business conferences. They had been single occurrences. And they hadn’t been all that good.
Whereas having sex with Cam at age eighteen on blankets by the river and the back seats of cars and on the lumpy sofa in the basement at his house and in her bed when her parents were out for the night… had all been amazing.
Facing him now with that hot look in his eyes and her very sturdy desk behind them and her entire body suddenly humming with awareness was truly a test of that cool bitchiness she had going on.
She crossed her arms. “What’s that mean?” she asked about the dress not being her.
But he just gave her a look that said he knew she knew what he meant. “There are no buttons.”
She frowned slightly. “No buttons?”
“Hard to be buttoned-up without buttons.”
Ah. Got it. Ha-ha. “Well, the idea of the contest and auction is that we’re doing something new, right? New ownership, new product, new approach to the business?” She looked down at the dress. “Maybe I need a new look.”
“You’re going to cause heart attacks in that dress, Whit.”
Whit. Ugh. He had to call her Whit? That nickname got to her. He wasn’t the only person who called her that. The other guys did, too, from time to time. But that was the thing… only these guys called her that.
Her family didn’t. Her friends… okay, she didn’t have many friends, and the ones she did kind of have didn’t call her Whit.
But these guys all did. Like friends. Or brothers. It was familiar and affectionate and it always made her feel warm.
But she knew they called her that because Cam did.
And when he had done it in the past, it had unquestionably been affectionate. And hot. It was now too. Probably because of the stupid dress, but right now when he said it, she could remember how he’d said it in those back seats and on those blankets by the river.
She lifted her chin. “Well, thanks.”
He took a step forward. “I’m serious. You can’t wear that to the auction. That’s not a business dress.”
“What kind of dress is it?”
“That’s a sex dress.”
Her eyes rounded. She’d poked but she was still surprised that he’d said it like that. “This is one of Piper’s dresses.”
“It’s not a sex dress on Piper.”
Whitney felt her mouth curving. “Piper looks amazing in all of her dresses.”
Cam nodded. “Yeah.”
“And she’s got better breasts than I do. In every dress.”
His gaze dropped to her breasts again and Whitney could only hope her bra would hide her nipples’ reaction to his attention.
“I don’t know if I’d say that,” he said.
Her mouth was suddenly a little dry but she managed a little laugh. “Piper’s breasts are bigger than mine, no matter what dress we wear, no matter what.”
His gaze made it back to hers. “Bigger maybe. But you said better.”
“You don’t like big breasts?”
“I don’t like any breasts as much as I like yours.”
And there it was. Out loud. Hanging in the air between them. Needing addressing. And all her fault. She’d poked. She’d wanted this.
She swallowed, knowing that her cool and collected expression had finally wavered. Not only did she really like that he liked her breasts, but she also liked the insinuation that he’d never met another pair he liked more. “Thank you,” she finally said.
Because what the hell was she supposed to say to that? She hadn’t really thought that far ahead.
The corner of his mouth kicked up. “You’re welcome.”
She wet her lips again. So now what?
“Your ass too. While we’re on the subject.”
She pressed her lips together now.
“And your—”
“Let’s change the subject,” she said quickly. Her heart was hammering and she was very aware that she was three big steps away from her sturdy desk and about ten seconds away from becoming a sex-on-her-desk girl.
“Anyway,” he said. “You can’t wear a sex dress to the auction.”
“It’s not a sex dress,” she said. “Piper wears this to work.” Then she frowned. “Do you think of sex when Piper wears this?”
She and Cam were talking about sex. This was really not how she’d imagined her night going.
“I do not,” he said. “I…” He seemed to be thinking about how to explain something. “I notice her in this dress. This is a dress that’s hard not to notice. And Piper is gorgeous and she wears the hell out of her dresses.”
Whitney nodded, telling herself that the stab of jealousy she felt was really stupid. If Piper and Cam were going to get together, they would have by now. They’d known each other, worked together, for years.
For all she knew they had gotten together. She didn’t know his history with other women because she very stubbornly refused to think about, wond
er about, or ask about that.
She’d seen them flirt but Piper had this flirtatious air about her all the time. She treated all the guys like they were good friends she loved but who also drove her nuts. She took care of them. She gave them shit. She called them on their shit. She also bent over backward to help make things work and get them what they needed and wanted to make the company work.
Piper was amazing. As far as Whitney knew, there was nothing the woman couldn’t do. She was easily five years younger than Dax and Ollie, who were the youngest of the partners, but she managed them as if she were an older sister. Or a mom some of the time.
She was undeniably gorgeous too. So maybe it just made sense that Cam thought so.
“But I think about sex when I see this dress on you.”
Air rushed out of her lungs. Dammit. This was so bad. She and Cam could not talk about sex. They shouldn’t talk about a number of things. Their past. Her family. Sex. Yeah, those were probably the top three. For sure. Though not necessarily in that order.
“You can’t say things like that to an employee,” she finally told him, her fingers digging into her arms.
He shrugged. “You have my boss’s phone number.”
She did. Though he didn’t have a boss. But he had three partners and all three would care if she was feeling harassed. He also had a fourth best friend, Dax, who was a consultant for the company and who would also care how Cam was treating her.
And suddenly Whitney felt warmed by that. She had people on her side.
It was a very strange moment to realize that. It was a very strange moment to be touched by that. But it had been a long time since she’d felt like she had people who would have her back.
She’d told her father once that a business associate of his had hit on her at a big reception. He’d laughed and told her that was just how men treated beautiful young women and she should be flattered. She’d told her brother that a guy he’d gone to college with had propositioned her to secure a deal. He’d told her to stop being such a prude.
So yeah, it was really nice to know that she had people who would take Cam to task for this.
She also didn’t miss the irony that Cam was the one guy she most wanted to talk about sex with.
He’d always been so sweetly dirty. He’d said things to her, even at age eighteen, that had been graphic and gruff and came completely from a place of emotion. It was like he hadn’t been able to hold back. She’d loved it. But only because she knew that it was a sign of how much she affected him and how much he loved her.
Dirty talk as a sign of love? Yeah, well, that might sound strange to anyone who hadn’t heard Camden McCaffery’s dirty talk, but it was true. It had been one of the things missing with the other guys. Not the only thing, but clearly some of it.
No one had ever talked to her the way Cam had.
Even the first time he’d asked her out. He’d come up to her in the school hallway, said, “I can’t stop thinking about you so you have to let me take you out.”
She’d said, “I do?”
“You do. I have to either get over you. Or get you under me.” He’d leaned in with a little smile and a look in his eyes she hadn’t fully understood but that had made her feel hot and tingly.
She’d been seventeen. The rich, untouchable Lancaster princess, and the school bad boy had just said he wanted to get her under him. And she’d wanted that—him—instantly. He hadn’t been intimidated. He hadn’t been slick or flirty. He’d been straightforward.
She’d met his eyes and with her best haughty princess voice had said, “That won’t help you get over anything.”
She still, all these years later, couldn’t believe she’d said that. She’d been a virgin. She’d been on two dates and she hadn’t really thought they were worth repeating. She had nothing to back up her comment, but something about Cam’s cockiness had brought her own out.
His cockiness had been all the more impressive because he’d been a McCaffery saying those things to a Lancaster. Their families would have flipped out to know that they were talking about even going to the movies not to mention flirting about sex.
Of course, that little thrill had made her even more willing to say yes.
They’d snuck around, had a lot of teenage sex, a lot of laughs, and fallen in love over the next year.
The best year of her life.
Still.
“So I probably also shouldn’t say that I think of sex when I see you in a lot of things,” he said, moving closer again.
Her heart tripped.
“You definitely shouldn’t.”
“Which means you probably won’t tell me that you think about sex when you see me either.”
Dammit. She shook her head. “No, I won’t tell you that.”
“Out loud anyway,” he said.
“What?”
“You won’t tell me that out loud.”
“What’s that mean?” But she was pretty sure she knew.
“It means that you tell me that in lots of ways, Whit,” he said, his voice gruff. “Even if you don’t say it out loud.”
She took a deep breath. She had to be cool here. He could be bluffing. He could be trying to get a reaction. He could just be trying to get her to admit something he didn’t know for sure. She might not actually be giving away how she felt every time she saw him.
“Some things never change,” she said, lifting her chin, fighting for the detached air she wore like she wore her favorite perfume. Why was it so hard to find when Cam was around? “You’re still completely full of yourself.”
He actually gave a soft laugh. “Well, yeah.”
That was another really appealing thing about this guy—he knew himself and he owned his flaws. Oh, he owned his accomplishments and talents too, but he owned his flaws.
She just wasn’t sure he thought being full of himself was a flaw.
“You really like that dress?” he asked, his gaze tracking over her again.
She nodded. “I do. I think it’s time I try a few new things.”
She didn’t like this dress. Well, she liked the dress. But she wasn’t going to wear it. She wasn’t… ready for a dress like this. She wanted to be. She wanted to feel confident and free of worrying about her image and prepared to just go with what felt good, but she’d spent twenty-nine years having to worry about what other people thought and how she presented herself and trying to prove herself. It was going to take some time to get to the point where this dress was a good fit. Metaphorically.
“Then I know exactly where you can wear it,” Cam said.
“Oh?”
“Timothy’s.”
Timothy’s was an expensive restaurant in Dubuque. White tablecloths, multiple forks, all of that. “Yeah, I guess this would work at Timothy’s,” she agreed.
“So let’s go tomorrow night.”
She froze. Slowly she lifted her eyes to his. “Us?”
“You and me.”
“Just us?”
“Yes.”
“Like a…business dinner? We’ll talk about plans for—”
“No. Dinner, wine, dessert, me feeling you up under the table, walking downtown and talking, late drinks, then sex all night in a suite at the Hilton.”
Whitney just stared at him. Her heart was thundering so loud that she almost couldn’t hear anything else. This was the thing with Cam’s straightforwardness—it was really hard to pretend that you misunderstood.
Okay, so her cool façade was going to waver a bit. So sue her.
“Not even a pretense of something else?” she finally asked.
“When have I ever been a pretense guy?”
He had a point. “So you actually want…” She trailed off and pressed her lips together, not sure she wanted him to fill that in.
He moved closer again. The air between them heated. At least she was feeling hotter.
“To look at you in that fucking dress all night long,” he said. “Getting harder and hotter as the tim
e goes on until we can’t stand it any longer and I almost rip it off of you in the elevator on the way up to the room.”
Well. Holy. Shit.
She’d asked.
And she’d wanted an answer like that.
But that answer was really the worst thing he could have possibly said.
How was she supposed to be completely professional and pretend she was over him when he said stuff like that?
He’s just pushing your buttons, she told herself.
He didn’t look like he was kidding. Or messing around. But she had to tell herself that was exactly what he was doing. Or she was going to grab him and strip him out of that hot suit and lick the tattoos that he’d added to since she’d last been able to lick them.
Daaaaaamit.
She took a breath. Then nodded. “Okay, so I guess my butt doesn’t look weird in this dress, then.”
He didn’t seem surprised that was the only reaction she gave. “Definitely not.”
“Okay, thanks for the input.”
She stepped around him and headed for the bathroom.
2
He waited for her to change.
Of course he did.
He wasn’t the type of guy to leave and let her catch her breath and gather her composure and see each other the next day as if he hadn’t just confessed that he wanted to take her out.
And to a hotel. For sex.
He really hated beating around the bush, so he didn’t. It made it so much easier when he knew that everyone knew exactly where he stood on things.
It was very important that Whitney Lancaster know where he stood on things.
That was why he was still here in her office, perusing the stuff on her shelves, playing with the stress ball he’d picked up from her desk, and thinking about the fact that she was at least semi-naked on the other side of the thin door of her private bathroom. And wondering what color panties she had on. Or if maybe it was a thong. Like the one he’d picked up from the snowy pavement a few months ago.
A gentleman wouldn’t think about that. Or the last time he’d seen her in a thong. Or naked. Well, he assumed. He only knew maybe one and a half gentlemen and he didn’t spend a ton of time with them.
Semi-Sweet On You (a Second Chance Small Town Rom Com) (Hot Cakes Book 5) Page 2