High-Society Bachelor

“Good,” she said, and waited.

It didn’t take much to figure out she was waiting for him to leave. Cam got up. In the lengthening silence, he searched for something else to say. The plain, bald truth was that he didn’t want to go yet. He wanted to hear her talk some more about her work. He wanted to see that peculiar intensity light up her eyes again. He wanted to hear more passion in her voice.

But he shouldn’t be thinking about any of that. Just because she turned out to be seriously, intensely, interested in her work, there was no reason to forget one undeniable fact.

Deborah Clark was an innocent and therefore off-limits to him. Period. End of story.

So he should head on out of here pronto. He should send Barb to lunch, grab a sandwich and a big mug of coffee for himself and get some of that ungodly mound of paperwork cleared off his desk.

“Who are you having lunch with?” he asked instead.

In the beat of silence that followed, Cam stifled a wince. How had that come out of his mouth? He never blurted out things. And he never asked nosy questions. That was Deborah’s province. She was the one who grilled people about their love lives, nailing them to the wall and demanding to know if they’d been ditched. Were her habits rubbing off on him?

Perish the thought.

He wasn’t worried about making her uncomfortable. After all, she’d gotten some definite mileage the other day out of his own embarrassment. And at least he wasn’t pronouncing her commitment-phobic into the bargain. In fact, compared to her grilling, his small question was downright genteel.

No, he didn’t mind embarrassing her a little. Girl or woman, Deborah could take care of herself. But he minded very much knowing that he’d lost control enough to ask a question he’d already decided he wasn’t going to ask. He also minded her knowing about his curiosity.

Deborah was looking at him in almost comical surprise, as if she was just as floored as he was by his question.

“A client,” she said after a moment.

“A client?” His head felt a little strange. Must be the last of the indiscretion-related shock waves reverberating in his brain.

“Well, maybe a client,” Deborah amended. “He’s the owner of a local clothing chain, and he’s looking for someone to plan shareholders’ meetings.” She said it casually, but her eyes glowed with suppressed excitement. Twin dots of pink stained her cheeks. She looked cute again, which was a relief.

“This could be a big deal for your company, then,” Cam noted, ignoring the small voice inside him that said she hadn’t looked cute a few minutes ago. She’d looked vibrant and beautiful.

Passionate.

“It could, yes,” she agreed.

“Congratulations.”

Deborah shook her head. “I haven’t gotten the contract yet.” But she was smiling, and Cam had the feeling she expected to get it. And why shouldn’t she? As far as he could tell, she did good work. She probably had a perfectly good business head on her shoulders.

Cam watched her cross to the sofa and pick up her coat and purse. That was when he noticed that Libby was still stretched out in the same position she’d been in when he arrived.

“Your cat’s not exactly energetic, is she?” he observed.

Deborah surveyed her pet with a small, indulgent smile. “No.”

“Isn’t it time for her morning walk?” It was eleven o’clock, just about the time the cat had shown up in his office. That day seemed a lot longer ago than only five weeks.

She looked puzzled. “What morning walk?”

“I thought she went out every morning,” Cam said.

Deborah shook her head. “No. Libby doesn’t venture out much. In fact, the day you found her, she’d escaped while I was in the shower, and I had no idea she’d gotten out.”

That explained a lot. It explained not only Deborah’s surprise when he’d handed over the cat, but also the little details he’d noticed at the time, like her damp, tousled hair and her glowing skin.

Little details he’d tried to forget.

“Cats aren’t like dogs,” Deborah pointed out. “You don’t walk them every morning.” Once more she looked amused.

“I don’t know much about cats,” Cam said. “We always had dogs when I was growing up.”

“But you don’t now.” She still looked disappointed about his dogless state, and even knowing her disappointment was only that she was stuck hostessing his party instead of walking his dog, Cam found himself taking it personally.

“That’s right. Now I have fish,” he told her with a firm cheerfulness.

Her brows shot up. “Fish?”

Cam frowned.

“Sorry,” Deborah muttered. “You just don’t look like a fish person.”

He stared at her.

“I’m sure you’re wondering what a fish person looks like,” she continued. “And I’d have to say I have no idea, but I pictured you with a very large dog.”

“My fish are the tropical kind,” he told her. “I like to watch them, especially when I’m trying to figure out a business problem. They’re soothing.” He grinned. “You still look doubtful. Don’t you like fish?”

She shrugged. “They’re not furry, which is a major pet criterion for me. Also, you can’t train them.”

“You can’t train cats, either,” Cam felt obliged to point out.

“Of course you can.” As she provided him with examples it became clear that he’d hit on a powerful topic. She looked as if she’d completely forgotten about her business lunch. “You just have to make a few allowances for personality quirks,” she finished.

“Hmm. I know what you mean,” he said after a moment. “One of my fish is like that. Very quirky.”

“Really?” She looked even more doubtful than before, and a little suspicious, too, as if she thought he might be putting her on.

Cam nodded. “Herbie. What a grump.”

She blinked. “Did you name all your fish?” Her tone sounded carefully neutral.

“No. He’s the only one who has much personality, to tell you the truth. He’s almost the smallest one in the tank, but he’s aggressive. He chases everyone else around.” Cam watched her grin. Cute was a safer look for her than the passionate expression she’d worn a few minutes ago. A few thoughts about her cuteness were not going to get either of them in trouble.

“Shouldn’t you be going to your lunch?” he asked.

Deborah shot a look at her watch. “Yes, I should. I’ve got just enough time to get there. Anyway, I guess I’ll meet your fish before too long,” she added, “because I’ll need to see your house—the kitchen, the party site, et cetera—as soon as possible so I can plan the setup.”

“Fine.” For some reason he was actually looking forward to showing her around. “How about ten on Saturday morning?”

“I’ll be there.”

Cam smiled in satisfaction.

DEBORAH PULLED UP outside Cameron’s house and gazed at it for a while. Her surprise that he lived outside of the city instead of in a posh neighborhood was nothing compared to the shock his house gave her.

It was large but not ostentatiously so. She’d imagined a huge modern monstrosity with pillars, intricate landscaping and a pool, but it wasn’t like that. In fact, Cameron’s house wasn’t at all what she’d expected from a man as wealthy as he was, a man who made such a big splash in Indianapolis society.

It was a normal house. Understated, even. The two-story structure had wood on top and limestone on the bottom. Painted a green that matched the trees and bushes surrounding it, the house looked natural, as if it belonged there in the woods.

As Deborah got out of the car, she caught a movement from behind the big picture window, and then the front door opened and Cameron came down the walk. He looked relaxed in tan corduroys and a cream polo shirt.

As always, up close he was even bigger than she remembered, one of few men whose height forced her to tilt her head up. At five ten, Deborah wasn’t used to feeling small and vulnerable. She didn’t like it, either.

Maybe she should wear business suits all the time around this man. Having armor had certainly helped on Wednesday. Even though the intensity of his gaze had made her as uncomfortable as it always did, the knowledge that she looked pulled together had steadied her. For the first time since she’d met Cameron Lyle, her tongue hadn’t run away with her. Well, except for her little lecture on event planning, but she could never control herself on that topic, no matter who she was talking to, so that didn’t count.

“Nice place,” Deborah told him. Her voice sounded too hearty, but at least she wasn’t babbling. She’d been to lots of clients’ houses, but this was the first time she’d planned an event for someone she was attracted to. Add that fact to the unfortunate truth that she had never in her life been this attracted to any man, and you had a recipe for possible disaster.

Getting this party over with would be a huge relief.

Meanwhile, planning it gave her something to think about besides the depressing news she’d received yesterday.

“Thanks. Come on in.” Cameron guided her inside, one hand between her shoulder blades, and she was way too aware of the warmth of his hand on her back. Deborah swallowed, but then the view caught her attention and she gasped.

She was looking at woods again, because the entire far wall was glass. The house sat on a hill, so through the glass she saw a large deck, and beyond it, sloping masses of evergreens. Sunlight reflected off the thin layer of snow remaining on the ground, and bright red cardinals were busy at the birdfeeders on the deck. The tranquil scene was straight from a Christmas card.

“It’s beautiful,” Deborah said finally.

“You like it?” Cameron looked pleased by her reaction. His smile lightened his features and made him even more dangerously attractive. Unlike some of the smiles he’d given her in the past, this one reached his eyes. As always, their vivid green gave her a small shock of pleasure.

“Yes, I do.” She moved away from the window. Away from him.

Business. That was what she was here for.

“You should have told me you have an incredible view.” Deborah heard the accusation in her voice, but she couldn’t suppress it.

Cameron raised a brow. “Why?”

“Because with built-in décor like this, we could do something really spectacular.” The mere thought of the ho-hum floral arrangements they’d settled on made her want to gnash her teeth. What a wasted opportunity.

Something of what she felt must have shown on her face, because he was watching her intently. “Such as…?”

“Such as a winter scene that incorporates the view from your glass wall.” The more she thought about it, the more excited Deborah got. “A park, for example. A beautiful, snowy park.”

“A snowy park?” Cameron looked around his living room, skepticism clearly written on his face. That was understandable, since his living room featured hardwood floors and comfortable, overstuffed furniture in warm shades of brown, apricot and beige. Nothing about the room suggested a park in the middle of winter.

But it would when she was finished with it.

“Trust me, it can be done. We’ll have to hustle, since we’ve only got ten days left, but fortunately, all we’re changing is the décor. And I have the perfect supplier.”

He shook his head. “No. We can’t change the décor.”

Deborah met his gaze squarely. “You could have a truly fantastic, memorable event here, one your guests will talk about for years.”

He watched her with unreadable eyes. “What if I prefer a sensible, traditional event?”

She took a deep breath. There was no point in getting bent out of shape. This man was, after all, the client. He had to be comfortable with the event design.

Deborah inclined her head. “If you really want something traditional, that’s what we’ll go with.”

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