He noticed she hadn't mentioned her family at all or how she felt about them attending the show. He thought about asking but then decided not to. This was a huge step for Mia, possibly even a break from the family business, and she needed to play it out her way.
She looked both nervous and excited about the gallery show, but he knew in the end she would be just fine. She was a woman who persevered in the face of a challenge-just so long as it was a situation she wanted to take on.
He let that thought go and recalled his earlier conversation with Ashley. "I finally discovered what Trish Shelton has been up to," he said and took a bite of the delicious, tender chicken.
"Oh?" She glanced across the table at him as she spun spaghetti around her fork. "Was it an affair like her husband thought?"
"Thankfully, no," he said, and that was rare in cases where a spouse was suspected of infidelity. Usually, Cameron presented his client with a guilty verdict and evidence, but not this time, and he could only hope Trish's husband appreciated his wife more than ever after this case. "All the signs were definitely there, and Doug Shelton automatically thought the worst, but he needs to have some faith in his wife."
"Why?" Mia's gaze was bright with curiosity. "What was she really doing?"
"Thanks to Ashley, I now know Trish has spent the past few months planning a very big and lavish surprise party for her husband's fiftieth birthday. It's taking place tomorrow evening in one of the ballrooms of the St. Claire Hotel. Trish was there today to firm up the final details with the banquet manager."
"Wow, all that surveillance and there was no affair after all," she said as she cut her chicken into small pieces. "So how does that other lady Trish was with at the restaurant fit into all this?" Mia asked.
"Margot? She's a graphic design artist, and when I asked Ashley if she was familiar with the name, she said Margot Dalton was working with the banquet manager on some graphic art work for the party. Probably for the invitations or the favors." Finished with his first serving of dinner, Cameron piled more chicken and spaghetti on his plate.
"What are you going to tell Doug Shelton?" she asked as she absently pushed her salad around in her bowl. "Are you just going to let him go to the party and be surprised and then give him your final report afterward?"
Cameron was tempted to do that, but his job as a P.I. dictated that he report the facts as he received them, even if it meant spoiling a surprise. Unfortunately, that was the man's problem, not his, and Doug was going to have to put on a convincing "surprise" act if he didn't want to rouse his wife's suspicions in return.
"I have to tell him what I know," Cameron told her. "According to the contract he signed with the firm, I'm bound to reveal any information I come across during the investigative process. That's what he's paying me for."
He met Mia's gaze from across the table, wanting her to really think about what he was going to say next. "I might investigate these cases more often than I'd like, but there comes a point when you have to know and trust the relationship you're in. In this case, Doug and Trish had a good relationship. He was just being an idiot."
He ate a bite of spaghetti and chased it down with a long, cool drink. "Quite honestly, maybe this will teach Doug to believe in his wife a little more instead of jumping to wrong conclusions. It's all about unconditional trust between a couple. A marriage or relationship can't survive without it."
And in the worst way, Cameron wanted Mia to trust him, unconditionally. To believe in him. To let him into the deepest recesses of her soul where she'd never, ever, let any other man before. He wanted to be the first to claim that wild, untamed heart of hers, and the very last.
As if she could read his thoughts in his eyes, she glanced back down at her plate and started making small talk about her day at work with Scott and Alex, and how she was feeling restless in her job as their secretary. That didn't surprise Cameron at all, now that he knew what her real passion was.
He could only wonder if she'd come to realize that she was meant to embrace her stained-glass art and make a career of it, or if she'd just continue on with the family business for the rest of her life because of deep-rooted fears and insecurities.
It appeared Mia was going to be facing some very difficult choices and decisions in the upcoming days and weeks. Cameron could only hope he would part of whatever future she chose.
"I don't think Carrie is going to show," Mia said over the loud music playing at The Electric Blue the following night. After two hours of waiting and mingling and dancing, she was starting to think their plan to catch Carrie in the act had been pointless.
"I wouldn't be so sure about that," Cameron replied, his sharp, assessing gaze focused on the entrance to the bar. "I think I saw her come in a few minutes ago, but if it was her, she's doing a good job of laying low and keeping herself inconspicuous."
That behavior matched what Cameron had told Mia earlier, when she'd asked how Carrie could have taken those second set of pictures and written all over her car when she hadn't been at The Electric Blue that night. He'd explained that because Carrie knew Mia would be at the bar, she'd most likely saw it as an opportunity to vandalize Mia's vehicle and take more pictures without Mia ever suspecting her as the culprit. Her plan had worked… until her latest package had given Carrie away.
It appeared Carrie might be operating on the same assumption this evening.
"Why don't you and Rick go on up to the stage and dance," Cameron suggested, because they'd invited his friend Rick along tonight for that purpose-to use him as a diversion so Cameron could blend into the crowd and watch Carrie without her knowledge.
"Ahh, I finally get to dance with Mia," Rick said and rubbed his hands together in anticipation. "This is what I've been waiting for. Let's go give Carrie a reason to take some more pictures of you." He waggled his brows at Mia in a playful, teasing manner.
Mia laughed and stood and then gave her sexy, body-hugging sheath of a dress an adjusting tug. "This is going to be fun."
"Just keep your hands to yourself," Cameron warned Rick in a gruff tone and then drained the last of his beer. "Nothing below the neck and nothing above the knee."
Rick held up his palms. "These hands won't touch anything they're not supposed to."
"Oh, come on," Mia said and grabbed Rick's hand, amused by Cameron's show of possessiveness. "Let's go do some dirty dancing."
Cameron scowled after them, wondering when in the hell he'd become such a jealous man. Oh yeah… since Mia. But ultimately he trusted Rick and knew the man wouldn't do anything inappropriate. Cameron understood that the two of them had to make it look real and convincing to prompt Carrie to take her pictures, and that would mean more touching than Cameron would have preferred.
Cameron's only consolation was that Mia would be going home with him tonight, and he planned to do more than just touch her body. Before he was done with her, he was going to entrench himself into her heart, her soul, her emotions.
He was going to make her completely his, and be sure she knew it.
With Mia and Rick up onstage dancing, Cameron skirted the edge of the room, staying in the shadows and working his way to the front of the establishment in search of the woman who'd walked in about ten minutes ago and resembled Carrie. He scanned the area and finally saw a redheaded woman making her way through the crowd on the main floor, toward the stage area.
Certain it was Carrie, he followed from a distance, watching her every move. She kept to herself, and it was as though she was drawn to the dance floor-specifically, to Mia and Rick, who were putting on a convincing act with their bold, uninhibited dance moves.
But then, Mia was so naturally sensual, her movements so inherently provocative no matter what she was doing. Men naturally stared at her, watched her, lusted after her. Tonight, though, Cameron noticed a big difference in Mia. She was laughing and dancing and having fun with Rick, but it wasn't a deliberate attempt to draw attention to herself as it had been in the past. Rather, it was an act to catch C
arrie, and Mia no longer felt the need to be wild and reckless for the sake of shocking everyone.
It was an amazing change, a maturity he hoped would carry over to their relationship. Especially after tonight, which marked the end to their agreed-upon affair but could be the beginning of something much bigger and better. If she allowed it to happen.
With his gaze still on Carrie, he watched her lift something up to her face and realized it was a small, disposable camera-which made perfect sense considering all the photographs Mia had received in the mail had been grainy and taken from a distance. She took a few pictures, and the strobe lights overhead camouflaged the camera's flash. When the current song ended, Carrie wended her way through the crush of people and down the corridor leading to the restrooms.
Before the next song could begin, Cameron flipped open his cell phone and called Rick. He'd specifically told him to put his phone on vibrate, and he knew the exact moment his call had gone through. Rick jerked in startled surprise and then grinned wryly as he pulled his phone from his jean's front pocket.
As soon as he answered, Cameron said, "Carrie is here with a camera. Meet me at the bottom of the stairs to the dance floor."
Rick disconnected the call, said something to Mia, and then grabbed her hand and they both headed toward the stairs. Cameron arrived just as they did.
"Change of plans," he said to Mia. "She just went into the women's restroom. Why don't you go in there and act surprised to see her. That way she can't try and sneak out of here without being seen like she did the last time. I'll wait just outside the restroom, just in case you end up needing me for anything."
She exhaled a deep breath. "I'm sure I'll be fine."
As Mia headed down the hallway to the restrooms, she hoped her words proved to be true, that she would be okay by the end of all this. Even though she knew Carrie was responsible for everything, she wasn't looking forward to the confrontation that would undoubtedly occur.
She pushed open the door to the ladies room and stepped into the spacious women's lounge. The room was occupied by at least a dozen women sitting on the couches and chairs as they chatted and freshened their makeup. Carrie wasn't there, so Mia continued on to the bathrooms, and as soon as she entered the area she saw Carrie jerk away from the large mirror above the row of sinks and then quickly stuff something into her purse.
"Mia!" she exclaimed, her eyes wide and startled. "I've been looking for you!"
The lie hurt, especially when Mia knew exactly what Carrie was up to. She also knew that if Carrie hadn't been caught right now she most likely would have left The Electric Blue without contacting Mia at all.
"I was on the dance floor," Mia replied and refused to let Carrie off easy. "Why didn't you tell me you were coming tonight?"
"Oh, it was a last-minute thing. I wasn't going to come, then changed my mind, and because it was all so spur of the moment, I figured I'd find you here," she said, speaking in a fast, nervous rush. "Come on, let's go back out and get a drink." She stepped toward Mia in an attempt to usher her out of the bathroom.
Mia turned to go, but something on the mirror caught her eye. At first she thought it was a reflection of something in the bathroom, but when she stepped back to get a better look, she realized someone had written on the mirror itself-in what appeared to be bright red lipstick.
Mia Wilde is a slut.
The slur, coming from someone she'd once believed was a friend, hurt. Badly. She glanced back at Carrie, who now looked panicked because she knew she'd been caught red-handed.
And the only thing Mia could think of to ask in that moment was, "Why? Why write this about me? Why the pictures? The stuff you did to my car? The panties you sent? Why, Carrie?"
Mia expected Carrie to initially deny everything, but instead she lifted her chin scornfully. "Because I wanted you to see the way you act around men. The trampy way you dress. You want attention? Well, I made sure you got it."
A woman walked into the bathroom area, and Mia ignored her, knowing she couldn't let Carrie walk away now. "God, Carrie, what did I ever do to you?"
"You're a tramp," she said, as if that explained everything.
Mia thought back to her conversation with Cameron and his own explanation for Carrie's possible behavior. "Is this because of your mother?"
Carrie stiffened defensively. "Of course not. It's all about you. You're like a bitch in heat around men."
Mia tried not to flinch at Carrie's cruel words, though she couldn't deny they did sting. "I think this does have to do with your mother, whether you realize it or not," she said with more calm than she felt. "You can't control your mother's actions when it comes to the men who come and go from her life and the way she acts around them. And you blame your mother for your parents' divorce, so you've focused all that anger my way."
"My mother is, and always will be, a whore," Carrie said bitterly. "Just like you."
Although Mia was still hurt and angry, she could no longer take it as personally as she once had. She could only feel sorry for Carrie, that she was so wrapped up in her mother's life that somewhere along the way she'd lost control of her own. And until she disengaged herself from her mother and the situation at home, it would always continue.
But before she let Carrie go, she wanted her to know one thing. "In a lot of ways, you did me a huge favor. Those pictures you sent did make me see how my actions and behavior made me appear to other people. It made me think and change certain things, like how I dress and act. So if that was your intent, it worked."
The corner of Carrie's mouth curled in a malicious smile. "Just remember, once a tramp, always a tramp."
Carrie pushed around her, and Mia let her go. There was nothing left to say, and this was one friendship Mia didn't care to salvage. With a tired sigh, Mia followed her out of the lounge just in time to see Cameron catch Carrie by the arm and stop her mid-stride.
"Can I have the camera, please?" he asked politely and held out his free hand to confiscate the item.
Carrie yanked her arm from Cameron's grasp and narrowed her gaze at him. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Oh, I think you do." He smiled, though the look in his eyes spoke volumes and told Carrie just how serious he was.
"I saw you taking pictures of Mia while she was dancing with Rick, and unless you want Mia to press charges against you for all the other crap you've pulled, then I suggest you hand over that disposable camera you used tonight."
"Fine," she huffed. She dug through her purse, found the disposable camera, and shoved it into his hand. "You don't need pictures to know she's a slut."
Cameron's jaw clenched in anger, but he maintained a cool composure when he replied to Carrie's rude comment. "If you ever use the word slut, whore, or tramp in the same sentence as Mia again, I can guarantee you'll be slapped with a lawsuit for slander so fast your head will spin."
Carrie stormed off, and Mia glanced at Cameron. "Thanks format."
"Of course." His fingers flexed around the camera he still held in his hand as if he had to resist the urge to crush it into tiny pieces right then and there. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah, I'm good." She offered him a smile, because she was so grateful she no longer had to worry about when the next assault was going to happen. "It's finally over. Let's go home."
Her case was over. And after tonight, they would be, too.
Chapter Sixteen
AS soon as they arrived back at his place, Cameron noticed an immediate change in Mia, as if she were already withdrawing emotionally from him because she sensed the end for them was near. By the time they reached his bedroom, he was determined to break through that reserve of hers and make Mia his in every way that mattered-heart, body, and soul. Tonight, he wanted it all and would give no less to her in return.
But before he could make the first move, she slid her arms around his neck, pulled his mouth to hers, and initiated a hot, deep, take-charge kiss. The kind that tasted like sex and sin and desire, and promised erotic
, anything-goes pleasure. The kind that could drive a man crazy with the need to get inside of her as soon as possible.
His body responded to the soft warmth of her breasts pressed against his chest and the seductive way she rolled her hips against his. But for as much as she aroused him, he recognized her assertive approach as an attempt to be in control of tonight's encounter, and to keep a wealth of fears and insecurities at bay… to keep what they were about to do within the confines of pure, mindless, fuck-me sex so she didn't have to think or feel about anything beyond the moment of self-indulgence and physical satisfaction.
Her hands tugged the hem of his shirt from the waistband of his jeans in an attempt to get him naked. Complying, he raised his arms so she could strip off the shirt, but when her fingers dropped eagerly to the button fly securing the front of his pants, he grasped her wrists and pulled her hands away. He knew, just as she obviously did, that he couldn't think straight when she touched him intimately. He had no doubt she'd been counting on exactly that, but he wasn't about to let go that way… not until his fingers were on her, not until his cock was buried deep inside her, not until he felt her come.
He broke their kiss, and before she could issue a protest, he turned her around so she was facing his dresser mirror and he stood behind her. In the reflection, their gazes met, hers a dark shade of smoky gray as he lowered the zipper of her dress down her back. His fingers touched the soft, smooth skin he exposed, and he felt her shiver from his caress.
A slow, sensual smile curved her lips. "I didn't realize you liked to watch," she murmured.
He pushed the sleeves of her dress off her shoulders and down her arms, then skimmed the body-hugging material over the curve of her hips until it finally dropped to the floor. His mouth went dry as he took in her provocative, black, sheer lace bra and matching G-string panties that made her look as though she'd just stepped from the centerfold of a men's magazine. Except she was all his. His fantasy. His desire. His future.
He unfastened her bra and tossed it aside as well. Her breasts spilled forward, full and voluptuous and perfectly proportioned to her slender waist and the swell of her hips. "Watching adds an element of excitement, don't you think?" he whispered in her ear.
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