by JC Harroway
He nods again. ‘You wanted to experiment.’ He steps closer, grasping my hips and grinding his erection between our bodies as he kisses me with his trademark thoroughness.
My hands are occupied with his over-the-top provocative gifts—who even knew diamond-encrusted sex toys were a thing?—but I embrace the kiss as always, my pulse galloping to keep up with my filthy mind. When I’m panting, the tops of my thighs slick with arousal, I pull away, now determined to reschedule my meeting and forget. Forget that my life is so work-focused and that it no longer feels like enough. Forget that I’m sleeping with a man I hardly know but I’m too scared to change the status quo. Forget everything apart from the way he makes me feel invincible.
‘Show me,’ I whisper against his mouth. Everything else fades, as if nothing is as important as losing myself in my addiction to Cam.
I hear the sharp intake of his breath.
His pupils are so big I can no longer see the grey of his eyes. His hands fist in the fabric of my skirt over my hips, and he hisses between his teeth, leaning down to rest his forehead against mine and scrunch his eyes closed with obvious regret.
‘I will—hell, I will.’ He breathes hard, his sincerity pouring from him in waves of intensity I’ve only seen when he’s turned on, battling his control to push me into that final, exhausted orgasm before he allows himself to follow. Cam takes my pleasure incredibly seriously, perhaps as if he sees me as some sort of challenge beyond the challenges he sets for me, the ones my competitive nature demands I embrace.
He grips my hips tighter before pushing me away and groans, clearly getting himself under control. ‘But, for now, we have a delivery to make. Are you done for the day?’
My high plummets, the expectations of being immediately gratified and chasing off this edgy feeling hitting a brick wall.
‘No.’ I pout, my disappointment as effective as a cold shower, to be replaced with a flush of shame at the deflated look on his face. Whatever he had planned means something to him, perhaps as much as purchasing a drum kit for a stranger, and it’s clearly more important than getting naked and trying out his newest extravagant purchase.
I fight the heat rising in my face; I was willing to cancel my meeting for sex, but not for whatever Cam has planned? My priorities confirm we’re still very much on different wavelengths where the pursuit of pleasure is concerned. But I can give him time after everything he’s given me.
I mentally reshuffle my schedule so I can spend the afternoon with him, in or out of bed, because I want to see more of the look he wore when he told me about the drums. I want to see more of the real Cam.
‘But I can be free—I’ll just need to make a few phone calls. What did you have in mind?’
Cam smiles and my decision feels right. ‘I’ll make it up to you, I promise.’ He takes the butt plug from my hand and places it back in the box, snapping the lid closed with a frustrating finality. ‘Want to go on an adventure?’
His excitement infects me with a feeling of lightness, of possibility, of freedom. It’s heady and terrifying all at once. ‘What kind of adventure? I thought you’d planned skiing for tomorrow?’ I breathe through the feeling that I’m escaping my comfort zone emotionally, because I just don’t do this—cancel work commitments, play hooky for the afternoon, do something just because I’m overcome with the heady urge.
‘I have. Heli-skiing—it’s the best way to ski.’
‘Of course it is. And the most expensive, no doubt.’ I smile, because I know by now that Cam lives to the max. And how do I live? I love to ski. Despite all my visits to Zurich, I’ve never taken the time out for one of my favourite pastimes.
My earlier shame intensifies. I don’t have time for pastimes. All I do is work. Mark was right. Not only was I emotionally distant, but I was also absent most of the time.
What is Cam doing to me, and why does it feel both naughty and liberating? ‘So where are we going?’
He must sense my residual petulance, that I’m not entirely happy about postponing my orgasm, because he kisses me, his lips firm and coaxing and his smile both hot and indulgent, as if he’s already thinking about what we’ll do when we return from our fully clothed adventure. ‘It’s another surprise.’
‘I hate surprises.’ I exaggerate the pout that earned me one of his delicious kisses.
‘Because you’re a control freak.’ He softens his reprimand, giving me the kiss I wanted. ‘Trust me, you’ll love this surprise.’
Still, I wheedle. ‘As much as I love the sex toys?’ I lick my lips and watch the flare of heat in his eyes with satisfaction.
Such a low blow...
He laughs and looks down at my outfit: a sharp business skirt and a silk blouse. ‘I can’t promise that. But you might want to change into something more casual.’
Defeated for now, I change, choosing my favourite pair of soft denim jeans and a simple white T-shirt for any eventuality, trying to embrace the surprise Cam has arranged.
With my phone calls made, my meeting rescheduled for seven the following morning, we leave the hotel hand in hand. I’m eager to get whatever this is over with so I can persuade Cam out of his clothes, and Cam is just plain eager, because he knows where we’re going and, to him, life seems to be one big adventure.
When we approach a covered truck instead of the sleek sports car I’d been expecting, I skid to a halt. ‘We’re going in this?’
He said we had a delivery to make, but I was expecting...well, I don’t know what I expected. Nothing Cam does is expected.
Cam nods, climbing up on the footrests to open the passenger door for me.
‘Can you drive this?’ I hide the scepticism from my face, certain he’ll surprise me with his answer.
‘Of course. I’m a jack-of-all-trades.’ He winks. ‘Come on, up you go.’ He guides me up into the cab, his hands helpfully shoving me in by the backside so my core clenches and I can’t wait to get whatever diversion Cam has planned out of the way and head back to the hotel so he can make it up to me, as he promised.
When he’s sitting beside me, his big hands expertly wielding the power-assisted steering to direct us on our way, I ask, ‘So where are we going?’ It’s certainly not lunch on the shores of Lake Zurich or a boat cruise, otherwise why would we need the delivery truck?
‘I want to make a donation. A personal delivery to some very deserving recipients. I thought you might enjoy helping.’ He looks over to gauge my reaction. ‘Don’t worry, I promise I’ll make it up to you later—those toys won’t be staying in the box.’ He chuckles at my obvious exasperation, so I shove him in the shoulder and then slide my hand over his thigh, grinning. His excitement is palpable, infectious, so I almost don’t mind that we’re not back in the hotel room trying out his gifts, and now I get my wish to play Santa with him. I can be his naughty elf...
I’m still none the wiser as to our destination, but I’ve learned that Cam can be bull-headed, so I let it drop—I’ll find out soon enough.
‘You know the M Club organises many charitable events throughout the year, right?’ I say. ‘There are plenty of opportunities to make sizeable donations. That’s one of the beauties of membership, and it’s what I do.’ His extravagance shows no signs of letting up; in fact, he seems to go out of his way to best himself day by day. He said his inheritance was obscene, and, short of giving it all away, he seems at a loss to know what to do with his newfound wealth.
He nods, his mouth tight, which tells me it’s something of a touchy subject. ‘I know. I already give as much as I can, but this donation is a little more personal—you’ll see.’
We pass the rest of the journey in companionable silence, which is laced with curiosity on my part and what looks like knowing glee on Cam’s. My mind wanders back to my cancelled meeting with my Zurich team. I have hordes of people I delegate the small things to, but I’ve never fully let go of the reins and
simply watched the profits come rolling in. I’m not built that way. I’m too much of a control freak, as Cam pointed out.
I check my phone, pulling up my itinerary for my time in Dubai, which is where Cam and I are heading after Zurich. It’s a packed week—after London, Dubai is my second largest office, my clients among some of the wealthiest people on the planet, but even so, Cam’s filled all the gaps with ‘must do’ activities—dinner in the tallest building in the world, an Arabian Desert safari, our own private yacht tour of Dubai Creek.
My head spins, already exhausted. But I promised him. Perhaps this is his first world trip.
‘Have you ever been to Zurich before?’ I brush a speck of lint off my jeans, keeping my tone light and conversational rather than nosy and intrusive.
He shakes his head. ‘Until I left Sydney for Monaco, the furthest I’d been was New Zealand.’
‘So you’ve never been to Dubai either?’ No wonder he wants to cram in as many tourist attractions as he can, although surely he can return any time he wants.
‘No. Construction isn’t the best paid work in the world, but I had a comfortable life.’
‘Why not go back to your job, if you love it so much?’ My scalp crawls—if someone told me I couldn’t do my job, I’d be lost. Perhaps that’s why he’s struggling with his inheritance. But just because he never needs to work again, it doesn’t mean he can’t do what he loves. I do.
‘My boss looked relieved when I told him I wanted to take some unpaid leave. I think the company is struggling. And in theory, I no longer need the work.’
‘In theory?’ My probing is hesitant because I’m in the same position. I choose to work, because I love it. It’s my life. It’s what I’m good at.
‘It’s complicated.’ He keeps his eyes on the road, but his jaw is bunched, telling me he doesn’t want to elaborate. I’ve already suggested financial advice, so I don’t repeat the offer. But I want to help him.
The questions I want to ask clog my throat, because he’s hinted that he hasn’t always known modest or even comfortable wealth. That perhaps he has more in common with the boy at the music store than he does with me or any other M Club member; that none of this, the luxury, the charitable donations, the escapist hedonism comes naturally to him.
After ten minutes, he pulls the truck to a halt. I look out but all I can see is what appears to be an animal-welfare facility—not that my German is very good, but the logo of a cat and dog give it away. I’m even more confused, but Cam’s already hopped out of the vehicle to open my door. I slide from my seat in the cab and he helps me down, his lips still tight. At least the haunted look has disappeared from his eyes.
I follow him to the back of the truck. ‘Where are we?’
He opens the rear doors and I get my first glimpse of our cargo—sack after sack of dog biscuits. ‘Dog food?’
Cam nods with a smile, tossing one giant bag up onto his shoulder. ‘Yep—enough to last them at least a year.’ With his free hand he grasps mine and tugs me towards the entrance as if he can’t wait to get inside.
I want to tell him he’s the only billionaire I know to be this hands-on, that if he loves dogs this much he could buy the pound or become a lifetime sponsor, but since that first day in Monaco I’ve learned that the quickest way to shut Cam down is to mention his wealth.
‘What about the rest? We’re not emptying the entire truck ourselves, are we?’
He shoots me that indulgent smile, the one that tells me he thinks I’m a bit of a princess. ‘No need—I’m donating the truck too. Come on.’
‘Wait.’ I can’t have him thinking I’m too precious to get my hands dirty or break a nail. I hoist a bag of dog food from the back of the truck and lift it onto one shoulder, as he did.
He stares, his eyes full of something that looks like respect and the smouldering heat I’m used to seeing. ‘Let’s go.’ I walk ahead of him towards the shelter, my back burning with the knowledge of how easy it is to impress Cam North.
We’re greeted by the manager, a man named Klaus, who speaks perfect English as he thanks us for the generous donation. Cam places his sack of dog food down on the counter in the small foyer and I follow suit.
‘Is it okay if we look around?’ asks Cam, addressing Klaus.
‘Of course,’ says the manager, all smiles for his generous new benefactor. ‘This way.’
We’re led to the rear of the facility, following the sound of barking.
‘All of the dogs here are up for adoption,’ Klaus tells us. ‘We usually rehome around ninety-five per cent of our dogs, but sadly, there are always one or two we find it impossible to place.’
Unease grips me, drying my mouth. Does Cam expect me to walk away from here with a new pet? Is that why he brought me here? I know I told him I had a soft spot for dogs, but that doesn’t mean I want to own one. Panic settles in the pit of my stomach like a rock, even as my pulse flutters at the extreme sweetness of Cam’s gesture. Once the door is open and I see those expectant canine eyes, it will be harder to stay strong.
I tug Cam to a standstill and speak to him in a hushed whisper. ‘What are you doing? I can’t adopt a dog. I told you my life is completely unsuitable for pet ownership.’ My phone buzzes in my pocket but I ignore it. It’s important Cam understands me, that my resolve is rock solid before Klaus opens that door and we’re greeted with a hundred pairs of puppy eyes, including Cam’s. This is why he’s so irresistible, why I can never say no to him. He’s full of contradictions—big and sexy and manly on the outside with a heart of gold and a massive soft spot for the underdog, human or four-legged.
He takes both my hands and squeezes my fingers. ‘I know. I don’t expect you to adopt one, although how awesome would that be?’
At my stunned silence he continues. ‘You just said you liked dogs, so I thought it might be nice to hang out with a few for the afternoon. Pets are the perfect stress reliever.’ He looks down at my pocket, where my phone is happily buzzing again.
My fingers, nestled in his, twitch to answer the phone, even as I acknowledge the thoughtfulness of his surprise and that it means for him we’re not just having sex. He’s listened to me. He remembers my favourite colour and the fact I miss owning a dog.
My throat grows tight at his show of consideration. When was the last time someone, anyone, did something like this for me? Something simple. Just because.
‘I’m not stressed.’ I flush hot with guilt. I sound ungrateful, but I’m too busy to be stressed. I think of the stack of work requiring my attention back at the hotel, my crack-of-dawn meeting tomorrow and the next month of travel, all to ensure my firm is the biggest, the best, and ticking along like clockwork.
Because I need to be the best? Because work is all I have?
I sigh—how can I be such a mess? A week ago I had everything sorted, my life engineered exactly the way I want it. What has changed?
Cam.
I know an afternoon off won’t do me any harm. In fact, I know I’ll feel refreshed and energised by his infectious energy. But at what cost? I shake my head, trying to assess why I’m overthinking this so endlessly, another new trait I seem to have acquired.
Cam clearly feels I need a little more persuading. ‘Look, you work hard, and you said you can play hard, too. Isn’t that why I’m here? Why you invited me along? So we could have a good time along the way? Will one afternoon off really make that much difference? I find it hard to believe your empire will crumble that easily—you’re too good to allow that to happen.’ His argument is a recurring one and he doesn’t really need to coax me. He’s right. This is what I wanted when I propositioned him. A distraction, a way to unleash my playful side. To find some balance. I’m worrying needlessly.
‘We’ll just stay an hour, and then I’ll take you back to the hotel and run you a bath before the opera. What do you say? Will you come meet some Swiss dogs?’
My mouth twists as I attempt to hide my smile, my lips drawn back to his for another kiss I can’t deny myself. He’s so open, so generous, not just with money, but also with his time, his enthusiasm and the easy way he sucks every scrap of enjoyment from any activity, simple or grandiose. How can I refuse him?
‘Okay.’
He blasts me with his dazzling smile, and we follow a patient Klaus to the kennels. The inhabitants of the shelter are so excited to see us, I’m immediately overcome with feel-good emotions, all thoughts of work forgotten.
We’re taken to a large garden behind the shelter where we can throw balls for the dogs, who without exception seem to want nothing more than to be close to us. I know how they feel; I’m developing quite an attachment to Cam myself. I watch him use his superior athleticism and strength to toss the ball to the far corners of the garden, his T-shirt riding up as he throws to reveal a tantalising strip of skin that snares my attention.
There’s a beagle cross that seems to feel a particular affinity for me, returning time after time to my side and obediently dropping the ball and sitting, patiently waiting for me to throw it again. I stroke the dog’s silky head, an uninhibited giggle bubbling up. Funny how you don’t realise the toll something takes until you’re forced to stop and pay attention. Perhaps I am stressed. Perhaps the burn-out feeling I had in Monaco wasn’t temporary. Perhaps that’s why the triumph over my father doesn’t taste quite as sweet as I’d expected.
I glance over at Cam, who is with Klaus examining some partially constructed storage sheds along the far wall. He gestures to the other man, pointing at the roofline and indicating for a hammer left on the ground by the builders.
Before I know what’s happening, he’s knocked out some sort of upright and is repositioning the wood with the absolute authority of a man who knows what he’s talking about. I take a seat at a rickety table and chairs and relax back to watch the Cam show. He wields the tools with proficiency, but what did I expect? He tackles everything that way. Confident, taking control, but with enough humility he’s in no way arrogant. I watch the way his back, shoulder and arm muscles move and bulge while he works, my eyes glued to his spectacular physique.