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If I’m honest with myself, there’s a third reason. It’s because I knew if I ever got my hands on her, I’d have a hard time letting her go.
Briefly I remind myself she’s here because I’m paying her to be here. But the moment she steps out from behind the curtain, I no longer care.
Holy fuck!
I knew Izzy wasn’t waif-like or reed-slender like the models I usually date. On more than one occasion, I’ve daydreamed—and night dreamed—about the lush curves that were only barely detectable, hidden under her shapeless business attire, but my imagination did not do her justice.
I had no idea…none.
Izzy is wearing pink pajamas dotted with polar bears in Santa hats. It’s zany and cute, but that’s not what’s stolen the breath from my lungs.
The reason I’m gaping at her like a carp is because, standing before me, is the most drop-dead-gorgeous woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.
Her oversized glasses are gone, revealing rosy cheeks and large doe eyes. Her hair, usually worn in a tight, no-nonsense bun at the nape of her neck is loose and flows over her shoulders in a tumble of brunette waves. Even the ridiculous pajamas don’t diminish her sinfully sexy figure, and the blood flow to my brain instantly reroutes to my lengthening cock.
A body like hers should be outlawed.
I’m suddenly grateful that she usually hides behind baggy, shapeless garments because I hate the thought of another man’s eyes feasting on the lush curves of this woman. A woman I desperately want to sample every inch of.
Chapter7
Izzy
Cam stares at me for an uncomfortably long time while I look anywhere but in his eyes.
I can’t help but notice that while I was behind the curtain, he took the opportunity to change from a business suit into sweatpants and a T-shirt. I’ve never seen him out of a suit before. It’s as though somewhere in the recesses of my mind, I assumed he was born wearing Brioni or Armani. I pictured his parents dressing him in little baby double-breasted onesies.
While I ladle our stew into bowls, Cam lets the woodstove die down and starts a fire in the hearth, which not only gives the place a warm, cozy feel but also provides enough light that we won’t need to keep the oil lamp going.
“So, finish telling me about your family,” I say as Cam refills his bowl. It’s his second helping. The stew is tasty, but I’m surprised that Cam, whose taste buds are accustomed to the finest dining New York has to offer, actually seems to like it.
I’ve already regaled him with a story about when my sister got into trouble in high school and our mother was too ill to meet with the principal so I donned a gray-haired wig and went in her stead.
He shrugs. “Not much to tell. My grandparents raised me from the time I was twelve. I couldn’t have asked for better.” He stops and runs a hand through his hair. “Which is why I can’t wrap my head around this stupid maneuver of my grandfather’s. If we can’t convince him we’re madly in love and I’m heartbroken over our breakup, and if he doesn’t agree to give me a few more years to come up with a plan, my cousin Geoffrey will take over RJ Conglomerates in a couple of months and I’ll be ousted.”
“We’ll manage it.”
Our conversation as we eat is natural, easy, nothing like our usual dynamic of the drill sergeant bosshole and his overworked, underappreciated assistant, so he catches me completely off guard when he says, “Tell me why you quit. Were you dissatisfied?”
Dissatisfied? Now’s your chance, Izzy. Light into him. You no longer have to worry about losing your job. Tell him all the things you’ve wanted to say to him for years.
But when our gazes meet, the way he looks at me sends a tingle shooting from my head to my toes, and I can’t.
I clear my throat and glance down at my empty bowl. “I suppose…I mean, I’m grateful this job has allowed me to put my sister through college, but it also requires me to be on call at all hours because there’s no telling when you may need me.” I’m not sure how much I should say here, but go with my gut and decide to be honest. “It’s not conducive to having a family. And that’s always been my dream, to have a husband I can dote on and kids I can spoil.”
“That’s your dream?” At first I think he’s making fun of me, but when I look up, there’s genuine curiosity in those dark eyes. And something else. Maybe…respect?
It spurs me on and I nod. “I want to sew and cook and clean and carpool kids to little league practice. I want a house in the suburbs with a wraparound porch, a white picket fence, beige shutters, and a red front door.” Cameron is staring at me with his mouth hanging open, and my cheeks heat. So much for honesty. I should have kept that last part to myself. “That all probably seems pathetic to someone like you,” I mumble.
“No.” He quietly reaches for my hand where it’s resting on the table and wraps his long fingers around it. I swear just that little touch makes my heart race and dampens my panties. I do my best not to squirm in the chair. “I suppose working as my assistant gives you little time for a social life.”
I scoff. “Social life? What’s that?”
The swirling wind outside rattles the window panes, but inside the cabin we’re cozy and warm.
“If I’m being honest,” I say somewhat wryly, “this has been one of the best dates”—when I say the worddates,I make finger quotes in the air with one hand since he’s holding the other—“I’ve ever had.”
“Same.” I wait for him to burst out laughing, but his face remains a picture of sincerity.
