She’d come close enough yesterday, boldly staring into his eyes as he leered at her chest. She should have been more demure, let her cheeks flush with indignation, and dress him down with a stern look, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t because she liked it that he checked her out. And she loved it when his breath hitched as he stared at her breasts. It told her something that she’d been longing to know for months: Cameron Winslow may not especially like her, but part of him—even if it was a very small part—was attracted to her, and that was a very significant victory for a woman who’d been convinced for months that he disliked her.
Heady with the knowledge all day yesterday, she’d forgotten to ask Shane about dinner at her father’s house on Saturday, and received a stern reprimand from her father this morning. But even Douglas Story’s sour mood couldn’t dull her spirits. Cameron Winslow would be walking into her apartment tonight for the first time, and, with any luck, they’d have a chance to share a glass of wine before Geraldo arrived at eight-thirty.
A glass of wine alone with Cameron Winslow, she thought with a soft sigh.
It would be one of Margaret’s favorite fantasies come true.
How many times had she imagined his lips pressed against her delicate Baccarat crystal, a dark maroon sip of velvety smooth Pinot Noir sluicing down his throat? Her heart thrummed as she took a quick inventory in her head. Ah, yes! She had a perfect 1999 Dugat-Py bottle of inky, show-stopping Burgundy that had been cellared for twelve years before she bought it two years ago. She would open it tonight, let it breathe for a while, and then— “Margaret?”
Her head snapped up so quickly that it connected with Shane’s chin before she realized he’d been leaning over her from behind her chair.
“Uh!” he grunted, then stepped back and rubbed his chin.
“Ouch!” she cried, covering the top of her head with her palm and wincing as she turned around to face him. “Shane, I’m so sorry.”
“That’s one solid noggin,” he said, flexing his reddening jaw dramatically.
“Solid seems to be the consensus,” she muttered, dropping her hand to her lap.
“You were off in dreamland.”
She couldn’t help smiling as her sweet dreams faded. “I guess I was.”
“Sorry to interrupt.”
“You paid your penance,” she joked, gesturing to his chin. “What’s up?”
“Your father . . . Well, he invited me for dinner at Forrester on Saturday night, but I . . .” He let his words trail off and dangle between them as he searched her face.
“Yes! Oh, yes! I’m so sorry, Shane. I meant to ask you yesterday if you were free.”
Shane recovered with a confident smile and nodded. “I’m always free for you, Margaret.”
He meant the words to be romantic—that much was clear from the dopey grin that accompanied them—but she wasn’t even the slightest bit wooed. Her father had essentially asked her sort of-boyfriend out on a date. How exactly was Margaret meant to take any pleasure in that?
She sighed, mustering a warm smile. “I’m so glad. Father would have been terribly disappointed.”
Shane’s eyes clouded over for a moment, and he took a step back to lean his elbow on the half wall of her cubicle. His voice was soft, almost tender, when he asked, “How about you? Would you have been disappointed?”
No. Not a bit, she thought. If you weren’t free, I’d be able to spend all weekend at The Five Sisters in jeans and a sweatshirt. Now I’m going to have to drive back to the city on Saturday afternoon to be a dutiful daughter and sit through a long, awkward dinner with you and my father. If anything, your availability has ruined my weekend.
Her biting thoughts shamed her a little, and her cheeks grew hot under his scrutiny. Shane was a decent person. They’d had several lovely dinners and attended a gorgeous concert at the Kimmel Center. The nights that they cooked dinner at her apartment had always been enjoyable. At the very least, she considered Shane a friend, and she couldn’t deny he had all the qualities she should be seeking in a potential mate.
Ticktock, ticktock, reminded her biological clock. You’re almost thirty, best get flirty.
His eyes were soft and sincere, almost encouraging, as they searched her face, and she felt another stab of guilt because the idea of sleeping with Shane held zero allure. The few times she’d kissed him, it had been like kissing one of her cousins.
Perhaps it was time to be honest with him and let him know that she’d never be able to see him separately from her father, that her father’s involvement in their courtship made it impossible for her to consider a future with him. She wanted the rush of falling in love, and Shane felt like . . . business. She didn’t know if his feelings for her were genuine or not, but just in case they were, she had a responsibility to let him down gently, didn’t she?
“Shane, listen, I feel that I should—”
“Well, well, well!” her father’s voice boomed. “If it isn’t two of my favorite people!”
Shane turned to Douglas Story with an enthusiastic grin, and Margaret sighed. So much for honesty. The moment was gone.
“All set for dinner on Saturday, Shane? Margaret?”
“Yes, Father,” said Margaret, rewarded by her father’s approving nod.