I knew from my brief research on Cameron that she and three friends had developed Bluewater. They’d created a waterfront community with sprawling mansions, luxury condominiums, a private airfield, marina, and a village with high-end boutiques and restaurants. It was very exclusive—Cameron and her friends managed it personally—and it had a reputation for being home to the particularly quirky among Miami’s elite.
A bridge took us over a canal toward several sprawling waterfront estates. Cameron turned down the drive of the second one. She left her car in front of one of the four garage bays. I parked and met her at the steps of her enormous front porch.
Cameron’s office had been sleek and functional with only a few feminine details. More elegant than pretty. But her house was like a tropical resort. The circular driveway was lined with palm trees and an explosion of flowering plants. Solar lights lit a wooden path that led to the covered front porch. The design was reminiscent of a beach hut, only sturdier—and much, much larger.
I noted the locations of the security cameras, including potential blind spots.
She punched in a code and opened one of the wide double doors. I stepped inside, although the palm trees growing right through the floor made it look like a tropical oasis. The glass ceiling let in light and a fountain trickled in the center of the room. Lush plants were everywhere. It was decadent without being garish. Tropical without being cliché.
“Well, this is it,” she said.
“No butler to come take your coat?”
She glanced over her shoulder, giving me a wry grin. “It’s Miami. I don’t wear a coat often enough to need someone to help me take it off.”
I took a few steps, my shoes clicking on the hardwood floor.
“Do you need blueprints, or will an old-fashioned tour do the trick?” she asked.
“A tour is fine. I’ll get the blueprints later.”
She raised an eyebrow.
From the moment I’d realized her friends had conspired to hire me behind her back, I’d felt like she and I were locked in a chess match. She didn’t want to hire a bodyguard. And although I’d started my day thinking I didn’t want the job, my instincts were still tingling. Even here, there was a hint of danger lurking at the edges of Cameron Whitbury’s life. I could feel it. And it was going to drive me crazy until I figured out why.
Which meant I had to convince her to hire me.
She set her purse on a side table and gestured toward a wide staircase. “Shall we?”
I nodded and followed Cameron up the curved staircase.
“We can start up here,” she said as we walked. “There’s not much to show you in the way of security in here. Bluewater is gated, of course. And the house is outfitted with an alarm system and outdoor security cameras.”
The second floor had hardwoods and a subtle beach vibe. Blues and grays. Splashes of teal. Tasteful artwork, but no personal photos on display.
“Guest rooms,” she said, pointing out several doors. “They have private bathrooms. They don’t get used very much. Mostly by Daisy when she drinks too much.”
“Daisy Carter-Kincaid. One of your Bluewater development partners.”
She glanced over her shoulder. “You did your homework.”
“It’s my job.”
“Naturally.” She pointed to a set of double doors leading to a home gym. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a view of Biscayne Bay. “That’s where Inda, my personal trainer, tortures me. There’s another bathroom through that door.”
We moved on past more guest rooms. Then a set of closed double doors.
She opened one side. “My bedroom. There’s a master bath and a closet through that other door.”
Enormous windows offered an expansive view of sparkling blue water. A single chair with a throw blanket draped over the back sat next to a small table with a stack of books. A plush rug took up most of the center of the room. Her king-sized bed was slightly rumpled, one corner of her fluffy white comforter pulled back, like she’d gotten out of bed this morning and left it that way.
Something about that slightly unmade bed made my dick stir.
“Since no one but me is ever seeing the inside of my bedroom again, we can move on,” she said, closing the door.
“That brings up another question.” I cleared my throat. “Are you dating anyone?”
She tilted her head and the corner of her mouth lifted. “I don’t date employees.”
I held eye contact. “You haven’t hired me. And I don’t date clients.”
“Touché,” she said. “Although if this was all an elaborate ploy to get in my pants, I’d have to give you points for creativity.”
“If this was an elaborate ploy to get in your pants, I’d already be in them.”
“You’re very confident in your abilities.”
“When it’s warranted.”
Her lips twitched again, and she turned to walk back down the hallway. I followed.
“No, I’m not dating anyone,” she said. “Not for about six months. And probably never again.”
There was a hint of pain buried in her flippant tone. It made a coal of anger flare hot in the pit of my stomach. I didn’t like the idea of someone hurting her.
“There’s another bathroom through there.” She gestured to a door, then to a large room on the other side of the hall. “There’s a TV and couches and that sort of thing in there. Nice for movie nights.”
At the far end of the hall, I could see another stairway leading down.
“This leads to the kitchen, which brings me to Nicholas. He’s my chef, and I’m warning you, whatever he’s doing in there, don’t interrupt. He makes magic in that kitchen and I don’t like to bother him when he’s working.”
“Understood.”
There was definitely something happening in the kitchen. A rhythmic thumping sound came from below. And was that someone breathing heavily? Maybe her chef was kneading bread dough.
“Nicholas is overqualified to be a personal chef, but he swears he likes the slower pace,” Cameron said as we headed down the enclosed spiral staircase. “The restaurant industry is brutal. And he works a few days a week as a pastry chef at the Bluewater Bakery, so really, we all win. I—”
She stopped in her tracks, her words cutting off like she’d just had the air knocked out of her.
“Oh my god!”
“Shit!”
“Cam!”
I hurried down the last few steps and got an eyeful of her expansive gourmet kitchen. And an eyeful of a tall bearded man with his pants around his ankles. He had an athletic-looking woman bent over in front of him, bracing herself on the island. Also with pants around her ankles.
They both scrambled to pull their pants up, blubbering with embarrassment. I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or grab them both and haul them outside. He better have been her chef.
Cameron put a hand over her eyes. “Oh god, Nicholas, I just saw your ass.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, still trying to pull up his pants.
“Damn it, Nick,” the woman hissed, hauling a pair of tight workout leggings up her legs. She had a mild accent. Israeli if I wasn’t mistaken.
“Are you decent?” Cameron asked, still covering her eyes.
Nicholas groaned. “Cameron, I’m so sorry.”
“Okay, but am I going to see your junk if I open my eyes or can I look now?”
“You can look now,” the woman said, shooting Nicholas a glare.
Cameron lowered her hand. “Were you guys just having sex in the kitchen?”
The woman bit her lip and looked at the floor.
Nicholas ran his hands through his hair. “Yeah, we… I didn’t think you’d be home for a while, and Inda kept bending over, and she looks so good in those pants, I couldn’t help myself. I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t blame me,” Inda said, her voice indignant. “I was just helping you get stuff out of the cupboards.”
Cameron blew out a breath. “Okay, we’re all adu
lts here. I’m all for a happy marriage where you can’t wait to fuck the hell out of each other; it gives me hope for humanity. But you cook in here.”
“I always wash my hands,” Nicholas said.
“What?” The pitch of Cameron’s voice went up a notch. “Is this like your pre-cooking ritual? Do you do this often? Is this why your food is so orgasmic?”
“No,” Inda said.
“Because if it is, I’m tempted to let it happen,” Cameron said.
“No,” Nicholas said. “We don’t… That’s not… I was just being spontaneous. God, I’m so sorry.”
Inda seemed to notice me for the first time. Her eyes widened and she put a hand to her forehead. “Oh my god, Nick, she’s not alone.”
I put up a hand. “Hi.”
Cameron stepped down into the kitchen and I followed, standing beside her. “Right, you’re here. This is Jude Ellis. He’s—”
“I’m Cameron’s new personal security consultant.”
She whipped her head around to glare at me. “He’s doing a one-time security assessment.”
I just crossed my arms, my expression stony.
Cameron shook her head at me, then turned her attention back to her blushing chef and his wife. She flicked her hand toward a set of glass doors. “Go, finish.”
Nicholas and Inda glanced at each other. “What?” Nicholas asked.
“Go finish what you started,” Cameron said. “You don’t need to suffer blue balls on my account. Go have sex with your hot wife. Just do it in your own kitchen.”
“Cam, it’s fine,” Inda said.
Nicholas shot her a look of alarm.
“What?” Inda asked him, lowering her voice to a whisper. “You could keep going after this?”
“Are you kidding?” he asked, looking her up and down.
“Ugh, you’re both disgusting,” Cameron said. “Go have sex. I’m going to go bleach my eyeballs. You can make it up to me by baking one of those key lime things again. It’s been a long day and I’d sell a kidney for one of your magical treats.”
Inda opened her mouth as if to speak, but Cameron cut her off.
“Don’t even start with me about my meal plan, Inda. I just caught you banging against my kitchen island. I deserve sugar.”
Inda clicked her mouth closed and nodded.
“Get out of here, crazy kids.”
“But, your dinner?” Nicholas asked.
Cameron started to answer, but I cut her off again. “I’ll take care of it.”
She looked at me, her eyebrows winging up her forehead.
I pushed my cuffed sleeves over my elbows and went to the sink to wash my hands. Nicholas and Inda glanced at each other again, then crept out to the terrace through the glass door.
“What are you doing?” Cameron asked.
“Cooking you dinner.” I turned off the water and dried my hands on a towel.
The kitchen was spacious, with white marble counters, an ocean blue backsplash, and stained wood cabinets that matched her luxury beach hut vibe. Tropical potted plants added vibrant color, and it was no surprise that everything looked top of the line.
She watched me move around the kitchen without saying anything, her expression bewildered. I did a quick sweep, looking for ingredients. I was no gourmet chef, but I knew my way around a decent meal. And I liked keeping Cameron off-balance.
I found fresh chicken breasts in the large double-door refrigerator, along with a container of already-prepped vegetables. She had spices in a cupboard. I set everything on the counter, dug around for a cutting board and set of knives, and got to work.
“Is meal-prep in your usual lineup of services?” She opened a cupboard and took out a wine glass, then raised her eyebrows, her hand hovering near a second one.
“None for me, and not usually,” I said. “I just figured I could do Nicholas a solid.”
“Getting in good with the chef is always a smart move. And I’m not helpless, by the way. I do know how to cook for myself.”
“No one said you didn’t.” I started slicing the chicken.
She produced a bottle of red wine and went to work opening it, then poured herself a glass. I kept my attention on the food, but I could feel her watching me. That intense green-eyed gaze of hers was scrutinizing my every move. Sizing me up. It didn’t bother me. I liked that she was being cautious, even though her close friend had hired me.
“Well, have you seen enough?” She took a sip of her wine. “Am I safe in my own home?”
“What’s out there?” I gestured toward the doors.
She glanced outside. “Three guest houses. Nicholas and Inda live in one. The other two are empty. There’s a terrace overlooking the bay and an outdoor pool. And lots of plants. My gardener likes to pretend we live in a jungle.”
“How many people have unfettered access to your home?”
She raised an eyebrow. “Inda and Nicholas, obviously. Also my gardener, Bert. He doesn’t really have a schedule, just comes and goes as he pleases.”
My brow furrowed.
“I’ve known Bert since I was a kid. He used to work with my grandad. He loves gardening, and this gets him out of his wife’s hair.”
“Is that it?”
“I have a cleaning service. And Brandy has the entry code. My friends do, too. Emily you know, plus Luna and Daisy.”
From what I could see, she was reasonably safe here. But that danger instinct was still making the back of my neck itch. I found a skillet and some oil and got the chicken cooking on the large gas stove.
She slid onto a stool at the island and got out her phone. Her eyes darted up to me every so often as she scrolled through messages or texts and sipped her wine. I wondered what she was thinking. The woman had an excellent poker face. She could have been mulling over the potential details of our contract, already willing to hire me. Or planning to dig in her heels and refuse, maybe to stick it to her friend for going behind her back in the first place.
Of course, she could have been thinking about work. She had an aerospace empire to run.
I finished the impromptu stir fry and plated us each a portion. I slid hers in front of her and she set her phone aside.
“I will admit that smells amazing.”
I took the stool next to her and handed her a fork. “Thank you.”
“All right, Ellis. Do I have to wait for the PowerPoint presentation, or can you lay it on me over dinner?”
I met her eyes, my fork dangling from my hand. “You need me.”
“Do I?”
“Yes. Your security staff at Spencer headquarters seem good. But they have an entire building to cover. And I assume you don’t spend all your business hours in your office. You leave for lunches, meetings, that sort of thing?”
“I do. Quite frequently.”
“So you don’t have security coverage in those situations. It looks like your people do a decent job of keeping you out of the gossip rags, or maybe you don’t do anything scandalous enough to draw attention.” I might have imagined it, but I thought I saw her eye twitch. “But you still have a very high profile. There are hundreds of reasons you could be targeted.”
She took a bite, her eyes never leaving me.
“In my opinion, your home security is adequate.” I wanted to tell her it wasn’t—that she needed someone here twenty-four/seven—but I didn’t have anything to back that up. Just that persistent neck tingle, and I knew that wasn’t enough. “Outside Bluewater, however, I do recommend full-time personal security.”
“You actually think I need a bodyguard.”
“Look, I don’t have an ulterior motive. If you say no, I get to go home tonight and not set an alarm for tomorrow. I’m just being honest. You had an incident that warrants tightening security around you, at least for the time being. You can hire me, or hire someone else. But you won’t find anyone better than me.”
“And you can fill in for my horny chef in a pinch.” She pointed to her plate with her fork.
I smiled. “Next time the meal costs extra.”
“Naturally.”
She went back to her dinner and we ate in silence for a few moments. It was odd. Cameron Whitbury was basically a stranger. Yet I was surprisingly comfortable sitting here in her enormous kitchen, sharing a meal with one of the wealthiest women in the country.
But I’d learned a long time ago that regardless of someone’s title or the size of their bank account, they were still just a person.
Finally, she set her fork down. “Okay, I surrender. Emily wins. You’re hired.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“She and my other two girlfriends have been texting me all day. This is the only way to shut them up.”
“So that’s it? No negotiations? No conditions?”
“I want to make it perfectly clear why I’m doing this. It’s not because I think I need personal security. It’s to appease my friends and get them to stop riding my ass about it. So don’t consider this a long-term gig.”
“That works for me. I don’t want a long-term gig.”
“Good.” She finished off her wine.
“Good.”
“And if you think you can tell me what to do, what to wear, where to go, with whom, or when, you’re mistaken.”
“And if you think I won’t stop you from doing things that put you in danger, you’re mistaken.”
Her eyes narrowed and her lips pressed together. Holy shit, this woman was sexy. The challenge in her eyes got my blood pumping in a way nothing had in a long time.
I just looked at her, keeping any expression off my features.
I could already tell Cameron Whitbury was going to be an enormous pain in my ass. But I’d always been a bit of a masochist.
7
Cameron
The breeze coming off the water was cool against my skin. I loved coming out here at night. The balcony outside my master bedroom had an incredible view of the water. The heat of the day had eased, and the blue serenity of the bay seemed to absorb every sound. Peaceful silence had settled over Bluewater.
“Suck it, asshole!”
Except for Frank, Bluewater’s free-range parrot. He squawked from his perch in a tree somewhere to my left. I found it best to ignore him. He’d get louder if you gave him attention.
The Mogul and the Muscle: A Bluewater Billionaires Romantic Comedy Page 5
