changes to the lineup, model contracts and the reception for three hundred of L.A.’s high-class society and the press. She could not afford these two days away from her office, yet it was necessary.
They arrived at the building before Camille had her game plan in order. On the ride over, after she’d pushed aside CK Davis Designs business, she’d begun to think about why she was here in Vegas. Her father’s house. The house where she’d grown up, where she’d had the best times with her father. Now her father was gone and if she didn’t stop it, his house would be, too. How did she really feel about that? Extremely sad, she admitted. Tears stung her eyes and she tried to take deep breaths to hold them at bay.
She stepped onto the elevator and let her head fall back against the wall. “Don’t cry. Don’t cry,” she chanted over and over until she thought she had herself under control.
The meeting was starting in ten minutes and she still hadn’t arrived. Adam had tried not to appear nervous. He wasn’t nervous. She was just a woman, just a client actually. And after today, after she signed over her share in the house, she wouldn’t even be that. He could stand here and try to convince himself that this would be the end of their involvement but that would be stupid and a waste of time. And if there was one thing Adam Donovan did not believe in doing it was wasting time.
Last night she’d appealed to him on a level he hadn’t even known existed in his mind. She’d needed him in a way he’d never been needed before. She was having some type of breakdown and he’d been there for her. He hadn’t a clue what he was doing at the time, however. All he knew was that she was in trouble and he was determined to help her. Afterwards she’d seemed to open up a little more. She laughed and she talked—not too much about herself—but she’d seemed very interested in his childhood and his family life. They’d talked for a while until she just about collapsed from exhaustion. He’d watched her sleep for a few minutes there on the couch with her legs in his lap, her head cradled by her arm resting on the back of the chair.
She looked stressed even in her sleep. He’d brushed his hand over her forehead, trying to smooth away the worry lines there but had been unsuccessful. Whatever it was that bothered her so deeply attacked her even in sleep.
This morning he’d awakened with a tense body and a mind still full of Camille Davis. He wanted to call her, to offer to have breakfast with her. Anything, because he’d felt desperate to see her. But then Max had called wanting to meet with him alone before their meeting with the Davis women.
He’d been in this building for four hours already and was itching to see Camille, to at least talk to her. After finally finding a reasonable excuse to leave Max’s office Adam had headed for the elevators. He was pacing in front of the doors, his hands in both pockets of his pants as he waited for the elevator to arrive. His shoes clicked against the marble floor and he wondered what was taking Camille so long. It was his plan to ride downstairs, to look for Virgil and his car and then to call the hotel if need be.
He heard the ding signaling that the elevator was there and stopped directly in front of it. The doors opened and his heart gave a staggered beat.
Camille stood against the wall, her eyes closed tightly, her hands gripping the handrail until her knuckles turned white. Of course he rushed to her side and of course he touched her, it would have taken an army of men to prevent him from doing otherwise.
His hands covered hers as he tried to pull them off the rails. “What is it?” he whispered.
Camille’s eyes shot open and searched his face for recognition. Adam felt the moment she realized who he was. It was a flash of heat, pooled in the center of her pupils. Then the heat melted away to be replaced by surprise and then indignation. “I am fine. Let me go,” she said in a voice that was way too shaky for his liking.
“You’re shaking. Who upset you?” She smelled delicious and looked fantastic. He’d noticed her stylish beauty that first night and then yesterday he’d watched her natural feminism blossom in front of him. Today, she was sophisticated, alluring.
“I am fi—”
“Don’t lie to me, Camille,” he interrupted. He captured her gaze and held it, letting her know he was serious and that her claims of being okay were not fooling him. “Tell me what’s wrong?” he said in a calmer tone even though his body shook with anger that he couldn’t quite place.
“I was just thinking of something that made me sad. That’s all. I am really fine now.” She tried to move around him when the elevator doors closed. “Great,” she said in an exasperated tone as she pushed the button to try and open them again.
It was too late; the elevator was already moving again. She sighed and rested her forehead on the doors.
Adam walked up behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders. “Were you thinking of your father?”
She didn’t answer but he felt her shoulders tense.
“It’s okay to be sad about losing him, Camille. If something happened to my father I’d be crushed. You can cry, it doesn’t make you weak.”
“Crying won’t bring him back,” she said softly.
“No,” he said stroking her arms. “It won’t. But sometimes a good cry is just what a body needs to rejuvenate itself and move on.”
She inhaled and exhaled deeply. “I am not going to cry. I just want to get this meeting over with so I can go home.”
Adam reached around her and pushed the number to the floor the meeting was on. “Then we will make it quick.”
They stood in the quiet for a second or so, then Adam took a deep breath himself, filling his body with her scent as he did. For a minute he was dizzy with wanting her. Then he shook his head to clear those thoughts. “What do you want to do about the house, Camille? Whatever you want, I’ll respect.”
Camille sighed. Her traitorous body had been on fire since the moment he’d stepped onto this elevator. She’d wanted to fall into his arms when she’d opened her eyes and saw him looking down at her. He was so close, his body offering a shield of protection she had always longed for. But then she remembered who he was and what he wanted and who she was and what she wanted. She did not need a protector and she did not want Adam Donovan feeling as if she were indebted to him in any way.
But then he’d said something that once again had changed her thoughts where he was concerned. She’d come here today with the express intention of ending this deal. She would keep her father’s house and buy Moreen’s share if need be. She would not sell to this man who had already admitted to fixing up properties and selling them for profit. She did not want her father’s house in someone else’s hands. But, as Dana and Moreen had reminded her, she had no intentions of living in it herself. While she wanted the memory to exist in her mind, she in no way thought she could handle facing it on a daily basis.
So where did that leave her? What did she want to do with the house?
He would respect her wishes. What kind of businessman said that? And did he mean it?
She turned slowly until she was facing him. He was still very close, so much so that his silky gray tie was at direct eye level with her. She reached out and touched it because she had always loved a good tie. Her father wore expensive ties of the most original colors. Adam did not move and she was careful to keep her fingers from actually grazing his chest. She looked up into his eyes then and saw something there she hadn’t wanted to accept.
Adam Donovan had caring eyes to go along with this compassion that he’d shown her on two occasions now. He was dangerously handsome with his close cut curly black hair and cleft chin. His body was broad, like most of the male models she hired and yet he did not appear to be ruled by his good looks. That was a rarity in her world. In the world of fashion people who looked like Adam knew they were the bomb and commanded healthy paychecks because of it. Adam already had a boatload of money and he looked too good to be true. But that wasn’t any of her business.
She pulled her hands away from him and