“Well you’ve won over Dr. Finley,” he said. “No surprise there.”
“It was very enlightening,” I said, arching a brow.
“It wasn’t my intention for you to hear all that,” he said. “Finley goes right for the psychological jugular. As you’ve discovered.”
“So when’s my session?” I said.
“He doesn’t believe it’s necessary.”
Bronte nudged my fingers with his nose. I eased the ball from his teeth and threw it across the garden again.
I turned to Cameron. “Are you leaving me alone with Shay again?”
Doubt flashed across his face. “Do you want me to?”
“Of course not.”
“Okay, good. We have what looks like a plan,” he said. “I hope you’re open to it.”
I gave a nod I was ready to hear it.
Cameron turned to face the house. “Dr. Finley believes that you and I have created a co-perfect ideal about each other. Having spent such little time together in what would be considered a normal situation, we’ve built up an unrealistic ideal.”
“So what you’re essentially saying is that you’re not perfect?”
“And the probability of you really being this flawless is unrealistic,” said Cameron. “Apparently.”
“So what’s the plan?”
Cameron watched Bronte running around with the ball still between his teeth. “Finley believes we can kill two birds with one stone.”
“How?”
“Well, he surmises that hiding from Lance is a mistake. It makes us look weak. Feeds into Lance’s power complex.”
“So we can come out of hiding?” I said.
“Yes. With Shay’s approval, of course.”
“I hope he agrees.”
“He will,” said Cameron. “Finley also recommends that you and I spend intensive time together. Get to know each other better. That way I’ll inevitably grow tired of your immaturity and annoying innocence—”
“Excuse me?” I rested my hands on my hips.
He gestured his need to go on. “And you’ll become overwhelmed with my need to control you, overpower every aspect of your life, and dominate you, not to mention my insatiable need to fuck you half to death. You’ll eventually want nothing more to do with me.”
“Are you serious?”
“Quite serious.”
“I’m not immature.”
“You kind of are.”
“In what way?”
He arched a brow. “You have a Hello-Kitty makeup bag.”
I waved off his accusation. “Choose something else.”
“You’re argumentative.”
“Well you’re bossy.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
“And very overpowering.”
“Looks like you’re taking annoying to a whole new level.”
“How long is this experiment meant to last?” I said.
“Couple of days, though to be honest my tolerance limit is kicking in right about now.”
“You’re an arrogant ass.”
“You dare to speak to me like that?”
“What are you going to do? Punish me?”
“I will spank you, yes.” He lowered his gaze. “Apparently we’re permitted to have sex.”
“Oh.” That familiar stirring moved low in my belly.
“So fucking is in,” he said.
I gave a look of how convenient for you.
“I don’t expect to enjoy your company, Mia.”
“And I know I’ll find your dominance suffocating,” I said.
“I’ll have to push you hard in order to push you away.”
“Looks like you’ve already started.”
He glared at me. “I’m going to kiss you now.”
“If you must.”
He stepped forwards and cupped my face with strong hands. Our lips met and his kiss was possessive. His tongue demanded control, battling my tongue as though the fight had already begun. He forced my surrender.
Oh God. Merely his kiss weakened my resolve and sent delicious tingles below. Those nips to my lower lip, then a deeper kiss sending me hurtling toward the edge.
Cameron broke away. “Finley’s a fucking genius.”
CHAPTER 7
SHAY DIDN’T LIKE the plan.
Sitting beside Cameron in the back of the Rolls, with Shay sitting opposite, I listened to them arguing and sounding more like old friends than boss and employee.
“That champagne and note didn’t strike you as a threat?” said Shay.
“It’s unlike you to be passive aggressive,” said Cameron.
Shay shook his head. “I’m worried about you.”
“Lance knows we left the hotel because of it,” said Cameron. “I refuse to let him know his bully tactics are working.”
“I’m not saying roll over and show your balls. Just maintain a low profile and stay out of the tabloids.”
“Tabloids?” I said.
Shay flashed an annoyed glance. “Yes, Mia, as soon as the press discover Cole’s in town they’ll track your every move. It won’t be just Lance Merrill on your tail but the paparazzi too. They’ll do his work for him.”
“Why would the press be interested in us?” I said.
Shay held Cameron’s stare. “She does know, right?”
“I’m fodder for the press, Mia,” said Cameron. “Any family with money are at risk.”
“Cole’s a well known bachelor in the US,” said Shay. “I thought you knew this?”
“Cole Tea?” I said, confirming I did, but I’d never seen any article on him before. “I’ve never read anything on you.”
“When was the last time you read Time Magazine?” asked Shay. “Or Rolling Stone, or Empire?”
Um…never.
“She has no idea,” said Shay.
“Go easy on her,” said Cameron. “Look, I’ve phoned Richard. He’s signed off on this.”
“Until he sees a photo of you two on the cover of Hello magazine,” said Shay.
“What did Richard say?” I asked. “Has he talked with Lance?”
“Richard’s meeting with him today,” said Shay.
“Can I talk to Richard?” I said.
Shay shrugged. “He’s flying in tomorrow night.”
“And by then both our problems will be solved,” said Cameron dryly.
“What other problem?” asked Shay.
“A private matter I’m dealing with.”
I gave Cameron a glare.
“Shouldn’t I know about this issue?” said Shay.
“Hence the word private,” said Cameron.
I glanced at the passing scenery. “It’s my problem too.”
Cameron ignored me. “Shay, can you guarantee our safety?”
“My men have protected presidents, so, yes, it’s doable. Why don’t you go stay in a cottage in Scotland until Richard’s gotten through Lance’s thick skull?”
Cameron let out a deep sigh. “Mia wants to see London, don’t you?”
I swapped a nervous glance with Shay. “Not if it puts you in danger.”
“Let’s regroup at Chelsea Crescent,” said Cameron.
Shay looked exasperated. “Do you have any aspirin in the house?”
“Yes. I don’t want to see your men,” Cameron told him. “No fuss. No bother—”
“I specialize in fantasies,” said Shay dryly.
“Come on,” said Cameron. “I deserve some fun.”
Shay slumped back. “There’s no denying that.” He turned and tapped the divider.
The glass slid down, revealing the cap wearing driver. “Yes, sir?”
“Westminster,” said Shay.
“Yes, sir.”
“Thank you, Shay,” said Cameron. “I feel confident this is the best decision.” He reached for my hand and squeezed it.
Cameron and Shay chatted away while I stared out the window.
Not only were we now about to expose ourselves to any a
ttack Lance might come up with, I also had to contend with being Cameron’s problem to solve.
I pretended all this drama wasn’t getting to me, offering a polite smile when they shared a joke, or answering their question about what I was most looking forward to seeing in London.
I made up some story and they both seemed happy with it.
We parked outside a high end corner coffee house and Cameron ran in to buy four coffees, which included one for the driver, despite Shay insisting he wanted to go in for us.
I was getting tired of all this running. All this intensity. All this being held at arm’s length. The only consolation was I got to spend more time with Cameron. Dragging out what little time we had left.
He got back in the car and handed us each our piping hot drinks. We pulled away from the curb and drove onwards.
Somewhere during that journey, I handed my cup to Cameron and snuggled into the corner and nodded off. Jet lag and this over the top adventure had gotten to me. That and the welcome warmth of the car.
I stirred, woken by whispers.
“Guess where you’re going?” said Shay.
I rubbed my eyes and peered out at a double-decker bus beside us, full to the brim of tourists.
“We’re going on a bus!” I said.
“I think we can do better than that,” said Cameron.
The bus pulled away, leaving our view clear, and there, rising majestically to our right, was Buckingham Palace. I remembered it from watching the royal wedding with Bailey and Tara.
We’d made salmon and cucumber sandwiches that day and had been joined by Bailey’s English neighbor Gareth, who’d talked us through the entire event. From all our giggles and oohs and ahs, you would have thought it was us getting married.
My gaze shot to Cameron and then Shay, trying to get a read on them.
“Her Majesty’s not in,” said Shay.
Cameron gave a nod. “Union Jack’s up.” And on my confused frown, he added, “The Union Jack is the British flag. It’s tradition to fly the Royal Standard when the Queen is in residence.”
“Are we going in there?” I said.
“Turns out Aunt Rose has friends in high places,” he said.
“We’re going to Buckingham Palace?” I screeched it, wishing I could call Bailey and tell her. “Are we going on a tour?”
“Public tours are only held in the summer,” said Cameron.
“Does your aunt know the Queen?” I said.
Cameron chuckled. “Doubt it.”
Our car pulled up outside the large front iron gates. A few tourists turned to stare at us, probably expecting to see VIP’s stepping out. A few of them snapped photos of the car.
“We walk from here,” said Cameron.
“Call me when you’re ready to be picked up,” said Shay.
“You’re not coming with us?” I said.
“No, Mia, go have some fun with this guy. Keep him out of mischief.”
“I can’t promise that,” I said, beaming.
Cameron chatted with the military guard and we were permitted to head on through the grandest gate I’d ever seen.
We were expected.
Gripping Cameron’s hand and trying to look cool and not hyperventilate from excitement, I strolled leisurely beside him as we made our way across the front courtyard. We passed under the stone archway and through a large door that led us into the palace.
Men dressed in red and black uniforms stood guard; they were frozen to the spot, with their gazes forward.
Within a minute or two of waiting in the foyer, we were greeted warmly.
“Molly Jones,” said a short plump woman, introducing herself. She shook Cameron’s hand. “How’s the British weather treating you?”
She shook my hand firmly. “It’s bloody cold,” I told her.
Which made her laugh.
And Cameron shook his head, amused. “Exactly what she said.” He beamed at me.
Which I took as forgiveness for my outburst in what was meant to be the poshest place on the planet.
Cameron went on to thank Molly for her going out of her way and inviting us here to visit the palace. Molly told us it was her pleasure.
She put me at ease as she led us off on our private tour, sharing that she’d worked here for over twenty years and that every day was different. She told us Buckingham Palace had first started out to serve the royals as a modest retreat. Over the years, as kings and queens had graced the halls with their presence, it had evolved into one of the most famous buildings in the world.
However I’d imagined this place to be, never could I have dreamed up such lavishness, such grandeur. As we strolled from the vastness of room to room, each with their own distinct décor and distinct lavish theme, whether it was the rich greens and golds, or deep reds and silvers, all of them flaunted their perfection.
It made me feel so small.
“Well?” said Cameron. “What do you think?”
“It’s incredible,” I whispered, aware of the inadequacy in my vocabulary. “What do you think?”
“I feel for the people who grew up here,” he said wistfully.
And Molly gave him a knowing look.
“We’re all one big family,” she said. “This is more than a job. It’s a vocation.”
It was wonderful to hear about her starting working here as a young woman. She’d met her husband here and never wanted to work anywhere else.
We were led down the longest of hallways and it felt like we were trekking for miles. Molly chatted casually with Cameron about the palace’s grand collections of art. He really was a connoisseur of the fine arts and I remembered those grand paintings hanging on the walls back in his Beverly Hills home.
Molly pointed to this painting, or that statue, sharing her knowledge of each piece. Like the sculpture of a man’s face by a remarkable artist named Bertel Thorvaldsen, who’d captured the expression of a man’s calmness in marble, or the endless display by artists I’d actually heard of, like Raphael’s St. Paul Preaching in Athens, or the lifelike self-portrait by Rembrandt. Molly shared that Rembrandt had endured great tragedy during his life and had even lived in poverty, which was such a surprise considering his remarkable talent.
We even caught up on the history of court gossip, learning a shocking story that in 1873, during a visit by the Shah of Persia, he had one of his servants beaten so badly that the man had died. Apparently he was buried here.
Cameron made a quip about my ghost hunters having a field day.
And Molly agreed with a smile.
She also told us guests invited to stay at the palace would be asked about their likes and dislikes, as the Queen went out of her way to discover their tastes to make sure their time here was comfortable.
“The public don’t get to see this part of the palace,” said Molly, guiding us down a red carpet lined hallway. “These are the private chambers dedicated to preserving national treasures.”
My heart leapt with joy when I realized I’d be getting a sneak peek inside rooms that housed antiquities only the few were lucky enough to see. I knew the privilege of this visit and squeezed Cameron’s hand repeatedly to thank him.
He beamed back. “We’ll send Aunt Rose some flowers.”
Molly lowered her gaze as she addressed Cameron. “Well, if you’ll excuse me, I have a staff meeting to attend. How about an hour?”
“Sounds perfect,” said Cameron. “We promise not to touch anything.”
“It’s a pleasure showing you around. A real honor, sir.”
“The pleasure is all ours.” Cameron waited until she disappeared from sight.
“She’s going to let us wander around alone?” I said.
“The palace is strewn with cameras. Except this part of the house. This is where visiting dignitaries stay.”
“They trust us?”
“Of course.”
These moments unfolded in a dreamy haze. Both of us took our time to appreciate each piece of furniture, or ling
ered to admire the grandest collection of artwork. We moved through the endless suites and checked out a few of the many bedrooms.
The last bedroom we entered was furnished elegantly in deep burgundy tones. The four poster was easily the biggest bed I’d ever seen, with its dark wooden carved posts rising high toward the vast ceiling.
The most striking piece of furniture was the large throne resting upon a wooden platform.
Cameron tugged me over to it. “This is a replica of King Henry the Eighth’s throne.”
I imagined the original had crumbed into dust by now.
Running my hand over the armrest, I could hardly believe I was allowed to touch it. “It’s wide.”
“He was a big man,” he said. “I told Aunt Rose about your fascination with the Tudors and she told me about this room. She advised us to check it out.”
“You talked to your aunt about me?”
“She’s very fond of you. She lost her husband when she was very young and never remarried. She doted on us kids. Even went out of her way to visit us in school.”
I loved his aunt, although I’d only met her once, and that had been during the unusual experience of me being caught nude in Cameron’s foyer by her. Aunt Rose’s calm reaction and kindness during dinner had endeared me to her. I was grateful she still liked me after that debacle.
“I’m surprised she didn’t warn you off me,” I said.
“Quite the opposite.” His gaze fell on the portrait before us. “Anne Boleyn,” He pointed. “Painted before she was married.”
She looked kind of plain, and I wondered if the artist had toned down her beauty in an attempt to save her from the King’s advances.
“Poor Anne Boleyn,” I said. “She must have been terrified of him.”
“I imagine she had no idea he would chop off her head,” he said. “After all, he’d only just divorced Catherine of Aragon and there’d been no sign of the pending carnage yet to be unleashed on all his wives.”
“What did she do wrong?”
“Hard to say. Anne had enemies at court. Apparently Cromwell, the king’s right hand man, hated her. He accused her of plotting against the King. Henry was invested in marrying Jane Seymour, so it didn’t take much to persuade him.”
“How do you know so much?”
“A misspent youth in a private school.”
Enthrall Him (Enthrall Sessions Book 3) Page 7
