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“No. Are we supposed to be doing any of the things we’re doing?”
She laughed, settling back in her seat, resting an elbow on the back rail, her eyes glinting wickedly in the sunset light. “Touché, London.”
She drew out my name like she was tasting it, delighting in every letter of it. It gave me chills. I’d never heard my name sound like that—so delectable, like a rich, indulgent dessert. “But I did my research after I was assigned to your case.”
“Did you,” she said, her smile widening. My ears burned, and my better sense got away from me.
“I visited the outlet store downtown. And I bought a set. And… I’m a fan now.”
Slowly, achingly, she dragged her gaze down my body, drinking in every inch of me. I wasn’t supposed to be reacting like this, but it lit me up, knowing she was… imagining me. Heat built in my core, aching for what we’d missed on Sunday. “Which set?” she said, picking up her champagne, holding it up to her lips. I bit my lip, not even meaning to.
“Maybe I should let you just… think about it.”
There it was again—that same haze of desire settling over her expression, the draw in her chest that I could almost feel from here. “I’ll start guessing,” she said. Feeling bold, I stood up, leaning back against the rail.
“I’ll take it as free recommendations. Go ahead.”
“If you’re looking for recommendations, London, you don’t need to angle for it. I’d happily let you try them on. And give you feedback.”
I lost the cool I’d had a second ago. Suddenly hit hard with the intoxicating image of wearing lingerie for Cameron—the image of myself in that set yesterday, and the imaginations of what she might think about it—I felt my legs tense, bowing inward as I pictured it. Cameron’s sinful little smile said she knew just what was happening, and how much she enjoyed it.
Again, the voice pleaded weakly in the back of my head that this was a married woman, that this was our client. But my body wasn’t getting the message.
Cameron spoke in a low, husky voice after letting me steep in the feeling for what felt like hours. “Venusian Sunset.”
“I’ll keep the suggestion in mind.”
“No? Hm.” She leaned back in her seat, kicking one leg up over the other, a power posture as she let her gaze travel over me—taking in every inch of me. “I think it would suit you. Accentuate your waist. From seeing you in that dress on Sunday, I know it would be a shame not to take advantage of it.” She sipped her champagne, setting it down next to her. “But you have quite the pair of legs, too. Maybe the Midnight Vixen set.”
I felt myself blush like a schoolgirl, and all my pretenses of being cool, collected, were gone. I ducked my head. “Heaven’s Kiss,” I said, my voice low.
Her eyes flared, and I burned knowing exactly what she was picturing right now. “Not a bad choice in the slightest,” she said. “That garter belt on your waist… I imagine it would be quite a sight.”
“Cameron,” I said—I’d intended it to be a rebuke, maybe, slowing it down, but it came out as a pleading noise, something pitiful. I swallowed. “I don’t—”
“It’s a shame,” she said, giving me that same little playful pout she had in the club. It burned through me every time she made the same gestures—seeing her under the low lights and haze of LIV, feeling her finger dancing over my body, tasting her perfume as she kissed me. No wonder the Cameron Mercier store had smelled like Amelie’s perfume—it probably was her perfume.
“What is?” I said, weakly.
“I told you I’d wear my best next time. I’m not wearing anything special.”
“I’m—Cameron,” I said, this time summoning more of a rebuke, even though my head swam with images of what she must have looked like in all of her… I shook it off. “This is a professional interaction.”
“Mm. Yes, you’re right.” She turned back to her food, taking another shot, wiping her lip again in the way that sent chills through me. “We’re being good girls right now, after all, aren’t we?”
I wasn’t going to let her win. Even when she… said something like that. I sank back into my seat, trying not to be disappointed that she wasn’t looking at me anymore. She hadn’t mentioned that being a good girl was, in her eyes, a matter of being faithful to her husband or not. “We’ll be arriving in ten minutes,” I said.
“And you haven’t touched your food,” she said playfully. “Distracted?”
I looked away. “I’ll let you figure that out.”
“My deepest apologies.” That tone in her voice wasn’t remotely apologetic. I took a shot of the food, the shrimp and scallop rich with tender, savory flavor, brought to life by the crisp flavor of lime juice and red onion. It was hardly the first thing on my mind, though.
“The property is in a new development—”
“Back on track?” she laughed, but she gestured me on when I stopped, her eyes lighting up as she fixed them on me. My stomach churned. “No, go ahead. I’m listening, London.”
I wasn’t. I wasn’t paying attention to a thing I was saying.
