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Dane once again stayed in the meeting after Ari signed off. Cammie loved their online chats, which gave her a chance to gaze at him without a qualm.
“She’s really on board with this.” He leaned back in his chair and stretched, his hands behind his head, his chest broad across the screen.
Excitement welled up inside Cammie. “This will be great.” She loved the work they were doing, talking with the Maverick ladies, bringing to life these amazing ideas. With Dane encouraging her to do all the talking, it felt as though she could actually be in charge of these projects. “Do you want me to set up the interview with Tasha?”
He nodded. “You have my schedule. Just let me know the time.”
They needed an interactive website for the resort conglomerate that would drill down into categories, then into each individual resort. “I hope Daniel can spare her. I know she does a lot of work for him.”
“I’m sure Daniel won’t mind,” Dane said with a shrug.
“Good. Because I also wanted to talk to you about some ideas I had involving Harper Franconi.”
Dane was staring at her, the features of his handsome face softened, his sapphire eyes mellowed to the color of cornflowers.
“What?” Her voice sounded natural, but her heart beat with unexpected trepidation.
“I feel like I’m rushing you into coming back. I’ve involved you in all of this Maverick stuff, but you’re still grieving for your uncle and hip-deep in his estate.”
For a moment, she felt as if she’d choke up. But she banished it. “I would tell you if I couldn’t handle this. But really, these projects help me keep my sanity.”
He eyed her skeptically. “You’ve been running at a hundred and ten percent. And now you look tired.”
Her hands flew to her cheeks. She’d been working with Uncle Lochlan’s bank just before the meeting. Time had flown, and she hadn’t had a chance to put on makeup. But Dane would accept nothing less than the truth. “It’s just that I received his death certificates today. I expedited them.” And paid a fee to do it. The certificates made her uncle’s passing all the more real.
“I’m so sorry.” Dane’s voice held so much compassion she wanted to weep. “I know how hard this must be for you. That’s why I want you to take more time.”
She blinked, staving off her emotions. “The best thing I can do is work. And come home.”
Home. With the suite she’d decorated herself, Pebble Beach felt like home.
Being with Dane felt like coming home.
Was it really all that bad if sometimes she lay awake in her king-size bed with Dane just a few steps down the hall and let thoughts of him take over? During the day, she was efficient, dedicated, knowing exactly what he needed right when he needed it. But the nights were hers, and sometimes she simply wanted to close her eyes and remember his hard muscles beneath her fingertips, his silky chest hair against her cheek, his lips on hers, his tongue teasing her. It should have been torture, but she relished those private moments, those private memories.
But she couldn’t afford them now. “I’m coming home in just a few days. The first week of March.” It wouldn’t be long. “Right now, I have too much time to think.”
After a long slice of silence, he said, “Even if it’s for my own selfish reasons, please come home.”
Their work was his reason. It wasn’t as if it was about her. Despite everything Dane said, she knew he was tired of the temps.
She’d lived with these fantasies about Dane locked deep inside all this time. She’d go on living with just that—fantasies.
Because she knew the rules. Better than anyone. Maybe even better than Dane.
* * *
Fernsby ticked off the day in early March on his secret calendar hidden deep in the pantry. Thank heaven. Camille had returned. He stepped into the entry hall just as Lord Rexford rushed her, barking, jumping, ecstatic. Smiling at the display of affection, Dane set down Camille’s bag.
Only Camille could be away from home for five months and need only one suitcase.
If he were a different man, he might have hugged her. But he wasn’t the hugging type.
In his sternest voice, disregarding Dane altogether, he said, “Thank goodness you’re back, Camille. Your employer has been absolutely impossible for the last five months. He simply cannot function without you.”
Dane scored him with a glance. “Aren’t you overstating things a bit, Fernsby?”
Nose in the air, Fernsby droned, “You know my policy is always to tell the truth.” Then he added, “Sir,” in his deepest intonation.
His employer made a move for the bag, but Fernsby got there first. “I will escort Camille to her suite of rooms.” He grazed a look over Dane. “She needs time to adjust.” Then he turned to Camille. “Shall I unpack for you?”
