“Just come meet me. We can go to—”
“No,” I snarl, rearranging my breasts in the cups of my bra. He’s starting to irritate me now with his insistence.
“Well, I’m not leaving until you agree to—”
“Get out,” I say through gritted teeth. Running my hands through my hair, I jump when Becca knocks at the front door again. “Coming,” I call out to her. “Please, Cam. You’re not supposed to be here.” Even as I say it, the heat rises in my cheeks. Wasn’t I just—seconds ago—ready to let him have me however he wanted? Maybe that makes me a selfish little brat. Selfish or not, it would’ve been worth it.
“Come with me to Moseley’s Restaurant this weekend.”
“I can’t.”
He sighs. “Bowling, then? You love balls.”
I groan at his dumb joke as he lets me push him to the side door. Opening it, he looks me square in the eye. “Lunch,” he purrs, his voice still husky with passion. “Lunch is harmless,” he says, reading my hopeless expression. “We’ll sit across from each other. No touching.” He throws his head in the direction of the foyer and living room. “None of that. Promise.”
But what if I want that with him?
His blue eyes capture me in a momentary lapse of self-awareness. That dark hair of his that I want to run my fingers through searching for his humanity. His adorable dimpled grin that makes him look happy beyond belief. “Fine. Coffee, and that’s it,” I say, pushing the door shut behind him. “8 o’clock in the morning.”
“Wait.” He turns to me on the stoop as if he’s some eager little boy.
“At Center Square downtown,” I finish without him needing to ask. And the last thing I see before shutting the door on him is the victoriously wicked grin of a man who is used to getting every single thing he wants.
Chapter 4
“Riley, thirty-four,” the female barista with blue ombre hair calls my order number from behind the counter, setting my drink on top of the pastry case.
Grabbing my latte, I smile at her and take my seat at the tiny corner table by the front window. I don’t expect Cameron to show up, hence the to-go cup. In fact, I expertly chose the time this morning knowing it’s a rare day if he even wakes before 9 AM. Do I want to see him? Absolutely. But should I want to see him? Probably not.
Last night was excruciating and wonderful all in the same breath. Agonizing because I never actually got to have him. Which is probably a good thing, because it was a major lapse in judgement. But also did I actually try to go down that road with him? Again and undeniably? I mean, he was incredibly willing, so I’m not the only party at fault here. But that type of stuff is normal for him. Especially now that he’s inherited the whiskey business and has dollar signs for eyes. But as I think about it, the thought of him having an endless supply of eager women who aren’t me immediately makes my stomach churn.
Checking the line at the register, I make sure he didn’t slip in behind me. I decide I’ll give him fifteen minutes. Pulling my phone from my work bag, I check emails while sipping from the latte. There’s been a steady stream of customers coming and going, everyone bundled up and not casual enough for a Tuesday morning, grabbing their daily caffeine as they run off to work. The background noise of casual chattering and breakfast dishes clinking from the kitchen in the back makes it hard for me to concentrate on the details of today’s client notes. But luckily, I don’t have to wait long. After a few minutes of scrolling through today’s appointments, the cafe door swings open with a chime, and a waft of cool air grabs my attention, pulling me from my phone. And there he is. Two minutes until eight.
When I notice Cameron, I have trouble finding my breath. And like a brick, it hits me: This man actually showed up.
“Good morning,” he says cheerfully with a lopsided grin as he approaches the table. He’s wearing a navy button-down shirt and a pair of khakis. His dark hair is combed back like he just emerged from a shower, but I don’t hate it. He actually looks decent and not like he just rolled out of bed. Decent enough that I wish we were back at my house. Good grief, Riley. Control your thoughts!
“Fancy meeting you here,” I say, pushing the sleeves of my sweater up my arms. I slide my phone into my bag and look up at him.
With a chuckle, he bends down and kisses me on the cheek as some formal type of greeting, the social kiss that means I see you, I acknowledge you, and I’m being polite in your presence. And as soon as he leaves me, his spicy scent surrounds me like it recognizes me from last night.
“You look stunning,” he whispers, his eyes traveling my body, studying me in my charcoal plush-knit swing dress and feminine loafer flats. “Am I late?”
Already knowing the answer, I glance up at the clock on the wall and shake my head. I don’t want him to think I was watching for him. “No, you’re right on time.”
“Good. You didn’t let me get your drink,” he says, surveying the table.
“Early bird,” I say with a shrug. “It didn’t break the bank.”
Nodding, he scrubs a hand over his jaw as if he can read my meaning behind it, and I notice his eyes again. How the color of his shirt brings out their depth. “Can I get you something else?” he asks. “A pastry? A juice or another—” he nods at my cup.
“Latte,” I say. “And no, thanks. Too much caffeine does me in.” Smiling at him, I sip from my cup as he turns to head to the front counter to order his own drink. Everything feels so formal right now.
Silently moaning into my closed fist, I notice how snug Cameron’s khakis are on his plump little bottom. I uncross my legs. Cross them again. And I am completely taken aback and even embarrassed by the heat that is suddenly flowing down me. Closing my eyes, the entirety of last night plays over in my mind again. How close we were to…. His intoxicating scent and the feel of his warm hands roaming over my body. His delicious mouth on my thighs. Good grief. I’ve never felt like more of an objectifying pervert in my life.
Cameron returns to the table with a cup of black coffee, a bear claw, and an envelope. As promised, he sits across from me. “For you,” he says, handing me the envelope.
Furrowing my brow, I take it from him hesitantly. “What is it?”
“You know, Riley, the whole point of someone giving you something is not so you can ask what it is instead of actually just opening it.”
I roll my eyes at him and open the envelope. Sliding the thick, printed paper out, I’m holding in my hands a one-hundred dollar gift certificate to Center Square.
“What the—”
“It’s a month’s worth of lattes. Since you didn’t let me buy you this one,” he says, tapping the cup in front of me.
“Try a year’s worth, Cameron.”
“The only catch is whenever you drink one, you have to imagine me.” Taking a sip from his coffee, he chuckles. “Naked,” he adds.
“Shut up,” I say, sliding the certificate back in the envelope and across the table to him. While the gesture is sweet, I’m just not into the money games. “Technically, I’ve never seen you naked. At least not fully. So how am I supposed to imagine it?”
Raising an eyebrow, he takes a bite from his pastry. “You have. The first time we—”
“Nope,” I shake my head adamantly. I remember exactly what he was wearing that night. The T-shirt he had that I thought was the coolest. “You were wearing your no drama llama shirt, and you never took it off.”
He laughs. “Cupcakes,” he purrs, nodding with attitude. “You totally came on to me that night.”
My jaw drops, but I can’t deny it. I shrug. “Can you blame me? They say chocolate is an aphrodisiac,” I say, knowing good and well we hadn’t even made any chocolate ones before I took him up to my room. “You were my first time,” I say in more of a calculated whisper. Breaking eye contact, I study his hands as they linger on the tabletop.
“Yeah, right,” he laughs.
“What? You were.”
“Are you serious?” Cameron leans forward and rubs hi
s hand on my forearm. “I had no idea. Why would you—”
“Lose my virginity to you?” I tease, looking up at him through my lashes.
Adoringly staring at me with some sort of remorse in his expression, he nods.
“Gee, I don’t know, Cameron. I guess because I kind of liked you.”
Furrowing his brow, he tilts his head. “Oh my God, you did not.”
Looking at him blankly, I can’t tell if he’s joking. Because how is it not obvious when your best friend’s dorky younger sister is infatuated with you in high school? “Stop. I did, too. I thought you knew.”
He pushes air through his lips in some sort of distress. “No, I was oblivious apparently. I mean, it was obvious that you thought I was funny. And you did adore that no drama llama shirt. But everything else?” He shrugs.
The air between us suddenly grows tense. Like we both missed out on an alternate universe back in the day. It’s something unrealized and heavy. Like a wet blanket being laid overtop of a campfire, dampening the embers that lie beneath it.
Scoffing at him to hide my dismay, I sip from my latte and clear my throat. I try to think of something to bust up the tension between us. “Why would you think I ever actually liked that shirt anyway?”
“Oh, come on, Ri. Probably because every time I wore it, you did the awkward llama hand gesture at my shirt and created some disturbingly cute conversations with the no drama llama himself. You referred to them collectively as the llama-hood.”
My jaw drops in embarrassment. The fact that he remembers all this shakes me in a weird way, but I try to cover my tracks. “Well, I mean they were a brotherhood of llamas. So it only makes sense. And the conversations weren’t that disturbing. You’re being dramatic.”
With a smirk, Cameron does the awkward llama gesture with his hand and inaccurately imitates the Riley-in-her-teenage-years voice. “Hello, Mister Save the Drama For Your Mama Llama. Want to hear about the cool cheerleading movie I watched today? Jazz fingers.”
I bust out laughing so loud, the man a few tables from us looks over at us, but Cameron keeps going.
“Hi there, Mister No Drama Llama. Want to hear the song I learned on trumpet in band class today?” He buzzes his lips imitating some quick brass tune which now garners the attention of half of the people waiting in line to order drinks.
Laughing uncontrollably now, I feel my cheeks grow red. Ducking my head down, I press the back of my hands to my face. “Stop! You used to make your llama talk back to my llama! You literally have no right to make fun of me for that.”
Cameron’s eyes are glowing, his dimples now showing in full force as he laughs. He rubs the back of his neck and shakes his head at me, his laughter falling into a warm coo when he speaks again. “You were something else back then.”
The statement makes my stomach swim as if I wasn’t meant to hear those words coming from him. “Not anymore,” I joke, glancing down at the ring of coffee on my napkin.
“Depends.”
Jerking my head up, I feel too eager. Biting my lip, I nod. “On what, exactly?” I ask, my eyes darting over to his.
“On whether or not that was you admitting you want to see me naked.”
His game is fierce, and it draws me in like the violent pull of a magnet. And something inside me can’t help but want to be completely, one thousand percent honest with him. I draw tiny circles on the table as I consider my answer. “All I said was it would be impossible for someone like me to imagine someone like you naked. Since I’ve not seen you that way before.” I can feel myself turning uncomfortable in vocalizing this, sliding past his words and making them fit where I need them to.
But not sensing it, he chuckles and swallows another bite of his bear claw causing his voice to become sugary. “Would you want to? See me naked, I mean.”
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep myself from grinning at his absurd question. Did he seriously just ask me this in the middle of the cafe? “In the right situation, I wouldn’t be opposed to it.”
“The right situation,” he says, the reflective words sounding more like validation leaking from his beautiful mouth. “I have to tell you something.” He paws at the envelope nervously, and I wonder, for a split second, if he’s not about to tell me he’s seeing someone. Which would, inevitably, shatter this entire game we have going. “You made me rock hard last night, sweetheart,” he suddenly growls, leaning forward in his seat. “And I would like to do that again. Preferably uninterrupted.”
My eyes grow big as marbles. I glance around the coffee shop to make sure no one heard his outlandish admission. Luckily, the closest woman is a few tables diagonal from us, and she’s engrossed in a newspaper. “You can’t say that,” I whisper back to him, picking up my disposable cup to keep my hands busy.
“I just did. Besides, it’s the truth. I mean it, Ri.”
“I know it is, but there’s a time and a place. And this is neither of those.”
“What can I say?” He shrugs. “I’ve decided I can’t ago another five years without seeing you again.”
He’s starting to grate me now. The thought of our absence from each other’s lives being anything but his fault. “Well, then maybe you should learn how to use a phone. Not so hard, is it? Like I’m sure you do with all your girls around Savannah.”
And there it is. My jealousy rearing it’s dumb head. Shining through the Georgia dawn like the oldest, tallest lighthouse on Tybee Island. Proud and seeking darkness.
“Awe, come on.” He makes a stabbing motion at his heart. “Don’t do me so cruel, sweetheart.”
“It’s not cruel if it’s the truth. Your reputation precedes you.”
Cameron clicks his tongue. “I thought you said you don’t do relationships. So am I to assume you’re not doing anything casual then, too?”
Nodding, I know good and well that’s a lie. A huge, bold-faced lie as of two nights ago. But that was a one-off. I am not the one-and-done type of girl that I sometimes wish I could be.
“Except with me. Last night,” he says in acknowledgement, his voice teetering on an emotion I haven’t heard in him before. “Last night, you were okay with—”
“I just wanted to come,” I sigh, shrugging. And this is me trying to play it off as best I can. His expression perks up, his jaw nearly dropped as I read his face for any sign of regret. And I’m suddenly dull to the passion that we’d shared last night. The realization that I would always be just one of his girls hits me like a brick. At first, I’d liked the idea of having him, us both being able to get our rocks off in a harmless manner. No one would see us together. No one would know. But as I sit here in front of him, realizing he baited me out on a pseudo-date just to test my waters, I can’t help but worry about his intentions.
Cameron’s eyes widen, and his face adopts a look of mock-offense. “First of all, persistence is key,” he answers, narrowing his eyes as if giving me advice on how to come better, quicker, harder, something. “But if that’s all you really wanted, you wouldn’t have met me here this morning. And that I know for a fact.”
Furrowing my brow, I think back to last night. He’d basically forced me into agreeing to some semblance of a date before Becca could catch us. And though I’d denied him so adamantly, it’s only because I didn’t want to become one of his other girls. “You’re wrong,” I say plainly.
He shrugs and shakes his head. “I’m never wrong. Besides, Riley Pratt, I think you like me.”
“Don’t be so cocky,” I say, fiddling with the cardboard sleeve on my cup. “It’s not becoming on you.”
He snorts in laughter. “I wish you’d be coming on me,” he replies with a devilish grin.
Shaking my head at him, I roll my eyes. I’m trying like hell to not react to his ridiculousness.
“Or should I have said, ‘That’s not the only thing on me that’s cocky.’”
Muffling my slip of laughter, I press my hand to my mouth but accidentally unleash a lusty hiccup from my nerves. “Wow. Nice
try with the jokes there, cowboy. But no way.”
“How about this.” He straightens his face, puts a palm over his chest, and tips an imaginary cowboy hat at me like he’s wearing one. When he speaks, he’s donned a deep, southern accent. With enough husk and twang to do bad things to me. “It may take a couple of thrusts, ma’am. But I always rise to the occasion,” he grins. “How was that?”
A chill runs through me, and I roll my sleeves down, pulling my sweater tighter at his silly but sensual accent. “Worse. But I suppose you get points for effort,” I say, suppressing another hiccup. Suddenly, I become hyper-aware of the way his eyes focus on me. He looks at me like I’m the only person here. I can’t help but flush beneath the fire of his gaze.
Cameron finishes the last of his bear claw and sucks the glaze off his fingers. After downing a gulp of coffee, he plants his palm to the table. “So, you and I,” he says, pointing between us, causing me to nearly hiccup again. “We gonna ignore the elephant in the room here or what?”
Furrowing my brow, I roll the corner of my napkin and tap my painted fingernails against the side of the table. Which elephant could he possibly mean in this nightmarish parade of them? The fact that we almost casually had a one-night stand without thinking twice about it? The strangeness of him being back in Savannah? The way he’s something of a player in these parts of town? “Certainly not,” I say, calling his bluff.
“Will you go on a date with me, Riley?” he asks, deepening his stare into my eyes. “Not coffee, no lunch or anything casual. But a real, meaningful date. Just you and me.”
Fiddling with my pearl-drop necklace, I can’t help but smile at him like an idiot. “Why?”
“Because as much as I enjoyed last night, I enjoyed this even more. Talking to you, catching up. And besides all of that, you still have a thing for me, so—”
That cocky prick. Pulling my eyes from him, I scoff and shake my head. “There you go again, being wrong.” Add his egotistical ways to the growing list of reasons why I shouldn’t become involved with Cameron Alden at all. Smoothing my dress down and biting the inside of my cheek, I wish I could hate the man sitting in front of me. That would make things easier, wouldn’t it? My insides wouldn’t be so full of sticky butterflies over him. I wouldn’t have to be weighing my options right now if he scored an asshole straight across the board.
Whiskey Heart: An Alpha Billionaire Friends to Lovers Romance Page 4
