What's A Housekeeper To Do? / Tipping the Waitress with Diamonds: What's A Housekeeper To Do? / Tipping the Waitress with Diamonds
Her free hand locked around the back of his neck.
‘Easy.’ Cam felt Lally’s arm lock around the muscles in his neck, and he took two long steps, not towards the edge but parallel to it. ‘Sorry. I need to know how my male lead would feel carrying her.’
‘If he’s doing it to get closer to the edge, she’d be fighting him.’ Lally’s words brushed against his temple and cheek. ‘She’d struggle to get free.’
Lally was tense, but not struggling.
Cam had to think about his characters. The research. He could see the characters clearly in his mind.
That was great; his instincts told him he would be able to write this scene. He had his female character fixed now, defined, he knew who she was and that she would work well for his story. That issue was resolved for Cam.
What wasn’t resolved was his desire for the woman in his arms. That had been getting further and further away from his control since they’d first schemed this idea up earlier today. Maybe the excitement of it, the sheer fun of planning and executing it, was why Cam hadn’t controlled his other responses to Lally very well.
‘Yes, she would struggle to get free, but I’ll deal with working that out for myself or we can role-play it elsewhere. Even though we’re away from the edge, I don’t want to risk losing my balance or anything while we’re up here.’ He tried to sound focused and interested in the research. Not distracted…
‘If he does intend to throw her, the best thing she could do is refuse to release her hold on him, unless he was prepared to go over with her.’ Lally made this observation with what judiciousness she could find in the face of her distraction. Being held this way, held close to Cam’s broad chest, made thinking difficult. ‘Or unless he had the capacity to subdue her some other way before he tossed her over.’
In tandem with her words, Lally’s hand locked harder about his neck.
Cam moved his body enough to allow her to get her other hand free. ‘In the scene, she would struggle to get that hand loose.’
Lally added it to her hold about his neck. ‘So she’d hold on like this?’
‘At this stage, yes.’ God, his voice was way too deep, and his entire body seemed utterly focused on what he held.
And what he held was Lally Douglas in a flowing, beautiful dress that made her look both sultry and alluring. He felt the brush of the soft fabric over his hand where he held her in his arms; the hem wrapped around his trouser legs. He held Lally, her face upturned towards his, excitement and an edge of uncertainty stamped on that face.
It was not because she didn’t feel safe with him. There was apprehension of another kind, the sort a person felt when they entered uncharted territory with someone they found attractive.
Are you cataloguing her reactions now, Travers, or your reactions to her?
Cam stopped walking and murmured, ‘She would quite probably try to reach for the gun in her purse.’
‘Yes.’ Her words whispered into the stillness. She didn’t move.
Cam’s focus was on her face, his gaze touching on each feature—eyes, cheeks, nose, finally lingering on her mouth. His look, filled with want, desire and something perhaps deeper than both of those things, drew Lally’s gaze to his eyes and locked it there. Her breath stilled all over again. All around them was darkness and city silence, which was no silence at all, but it still shrouded them in isolation here while the world went by below.
Darkness and aloneness and consciousness.
Cam’s gaze met hers once more in the dimness, and everything slid into a different place for Lally. The evening; the slow meal and their talk about his writing and work projects; her determination not to look too deeply into herself: it had all mixed in together and blurred into this one moment that was so much more than the compilation of those parts. That really had nothing at all to do with those parts.
‘I shouldn’t have picked you up like this.’ He murmured the words, but he didn’t let her go.
Instead his hand wrapped more firmly behind her shoulders and he shifted to stand with his legs splayed apart.
His head lowered towards her. ‘Tell me not to…’
‘Not to…?’ But Lally knew. She looked into his eyes and she couldn’t say the words. How could she say those words to Cam when his gaze was on her this way, desire stamped across his cheekbones, burned into the shadows beneath his eyes, etched over lips that softened and dipped towards hers?
She should say no. She needed to protect her emotions and not take risks, but Lally could only wait while her lips softened in anticipation.
And then he was there. The kiss she had secretly longed for was happening.
His lips tasted faintly of coffee, and were both firm and gentle as he softly kissed her, oh, so softly, as though they had all the time in the world and all he wanted to do was this.
She’d thought she was holding her own, that she had control over this evening with him. That she had at least held on to a little of what it was all about, remembered they were doing this for his research and no other reason.
Well, this didn’t feel like research. Her lips softened beneath his and when he slid her slowly down his body until her feet touched concrete it felt natural and right to let his arms close around her, to step fully into his embrace and let the kiss take them where it would.
Cam made a soft sound in the back of his throat. He deepened their kiss, his lips caressing hers, moulding to hers, tasting and giving and taking. One hand splayed against the small of her back; the long, lean fingers of the other wrapped around her jaw.
Lally responded with a deepening of desire for him, but she also softened for him. Her emotions melted into a puddle inside her; if he’d wanted, he could have walked straight in and…
Well, she wasn’t sure. Taken whatever he wanted? Hurt her because she wasn’t ready to trust a man again, wasn’t sure she could ever do that again? She wasn’t sure she could trust herself.
Lally became conscious of just how intimately they were pressed together; their bodies were flush against each other from chest to knee. Cam’s fingers were stroking up and down her bare shoulders and back. Hers—were in his hair, clasping his shoulder while her entire body seemed to strain for closeness with his.
Oh, Lally. What are you thinking?
Lally forced her mouth to leave his, her body to draw back. Each action felt as though it took an aeon to execute. She shouldn’t feel anything towards Cam, not in this way. He was her boss; she was his employee. Lally felt panicked.
Think how Cam kissed you, Lally. How he drew a response from you so easily and so thoroughly, made you feel as though you were receiving your first ever real kiss.
Sam had made her feel that way. With Sam, it had been her first ever kiss. First kiss, first everything.
That was hardly the point here.
Well, what was the point? She couldn’t let herself be affected by what they had shared in these moments. She couldn’t let herself care again—
Lally forced herself to meet Cam’s gaze and opened her mouth to speak, to play this down, to say something about work or characterisation or research.
Anything.
But her lips still tingled from the press of his. Even now her body begged her to step back into his embrace, to take their kiss even further, prolong the closeness and connection.
Finally Lally found words. ‘I’m not looking for an involvement. Not that I’m suggesting you are. This…We forgot ourselves for a moment. There’s no need to make a fuss about it, but it mustn’t happen again; it’s not wise. You’re a busy man with loads on your plate, and your struggle to sleep to deal with,