The Dare Collection July 2019. Nicola Marsh

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СКАЧАТЬ didn’t help that Trish didn’t seem to realize she’d told him she loved him in a fit of passion—or that she hadn’t repeated the sentiment since.

      He gently shook her awake. “We’re here.”

      “Already?” She pushed her hair away from her face, but it immediately sprang back into place. “I didn’t expect to sleep so long.”

      “You were worn-out.” The truth was, he was worn-out, too. Cameron needed a solid meal and eight hours of sleep and a couple days’ reset before he got his head on straight.

       Yeah. Sure. As if that is all it would take.

      The ground wouldn’t be solid beneath his feet as long as he stood in the shadow of a future without Trish. They’d promised to talk more specifically about what that might look like once they were back in the city, but as much as he wanted a clear conversation, he couldn’t bring himself to rush it.

      Not when he suspected which way it would go.

      So he reached out and laced his fingers through hers. “Let’s get dinner.”

      She glanced at her phone. “It’s nine in the morning.”

      “Breakfast, then. We’re not due back in the office until Monday. Come home with me.” He formed it as a command rather than a request because he had a feeling if Trish thought too hard about it, she’d try to put some distance between them.

      Sure enough, she hesitated. “I don’t know... I think my own bed is calling my name.”

      “If you fall asleep now, you’re going to have a wicked case of jet lag and you’ll be worthless on Monday.”

      She made a face. “I know you’re right, but a contrary part of me wants to dig in my heels just because of how you phrased it.”

      “You’re too smart to cut off your nose to spite your face.” He lifted up their entwined hands and kissed her knuckles. “I have an obscenely large tub. I imagine it would feel wonderful to soak out any kinks.”

      “Now you’re just not playing fair.” She gave him a mock frown. “Fine. You’ve convinced me—on the condition that you don’t get weird about me doing laundry at your place.”

      “Deal.”

      She smiled a little. “It’s weird being back, right? All that time in London felt like a dream, and now it’s back to reality.”

      “Not yet. Not until Monday.”

      Trish hesitated again, but finally nodded. “I seem to remember my boss—he’s kind of a jerk, but he means well—telling me that under no circumstances was I to work on the weekends.”

      “Sounds like a smart guy.” It might be a lost cause to hold on to the dream for a couple more days, but Cameron couldn’t bring himself to care. There was no damn reason for his certainty that things would blow up in his face the second they got back into the office. She’d told him she liked him. Fuck, she’d told him she loved him, even if it didn’t really count because of the timing. Surely that meant more than some plan he wasn’t even sure she’d put into motion.

      But because he couldn’t be certain, he wasn’t willing to sacrifice any further time with her. “No work on the weekends—for either of us. No email. No work calls.”

      “That’s a tall order.”

      He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gone more than twenty-four hours in between email checks. It likely hadn’t happened since starting up Tandem Security. “A mini vacation.”

      “I think it’s what normal people call weekends?”

      He laughed and helped her stand so they could exit the plane. “I don’t know these normal people you speak of.”

      “There it is again—that sneaky sense of humor you have.” She looped her arm through his as they walked through the gate and into the airport. “I’ll admit—a part of the reason I’m agreeing to this is so I can see your lair.”

      “Lair? I’m hardly a vampire.”

      “Well, no, not a vampire.” She shot him a look. “Not a werewolf, either. Definitely not a zombie. You’re more likely to like the Highlander or one of those other immortals with a quest for vengeance. Loner-ish. Obscenely rich. Doesn’t bother with social niceties.” She brightened. “Since we’re doing a real-life weekend, that means a movie marathon. I’m sure that’s in the fine print somewhere.”

      Her enthusiasm diminished some of the dread eating a hole in his stomach. Maybe Trish wanted this fantasy state to last a little longer, too. “I draw the line at three movies. And there will be breaks in between.”

      “Breaks for... Oh.” She grinned. “I think I can handle that. We’ll rent a few from my list. I’ll make you a horror fan yet—just watch.”

      “You’re welcome to try.”

      They collected their bags and hailed a cab back to his place. It wasn’t until they climbed out onto the sidewalk and headed into his building that he thought about how Trish might react to his suite. He punched the elevator button and turned to her, and sure enough, her blue eyes were wide. “Fancy place.”

      He tried to see the lobby through her eyes. It was decorated in a modern chic style—whatever the fuck that meant—and was big on stainless steel and minimalism. He’d never put much thought into it before. It was a lobby, and he never spent more than a few seconds crossing it to get to the elevator. It wasn’t as if he lingered there. “If you say so.”

      “Good Lord, you’re hilarious. I don’t have to say so, because it’s the truth.” She followed him into the elevator and they took the ride up to the top floor. Trish shot him another look. “You’re afraid of heights.”

      “I don’t like heights,” he corrected.

      “Sure. You don’t like heights. And you live in the top-floor penthouse suite?”

      “The windows are reinforced,” he said stiffly. “And it’s not like I spend a lot of time looking out them.”

      She nodded. “That doesn’t make any sense, but I’m going to pretend it does.” Trish wandered around his suite and, once again, he tried to see things from her point of view. Cameron hadn’t bothered to decorate the place himself. He’d hired a designer to outfit it after he bought it, and the man had done well enough. All the essentials were there—furniture, television, bed, various kitchen tools despite his rarely having time to cook. Everything was nice and neutral but, looking at it through the lens of what he knew of Trish, it seemed...boring.

      She propped her hands on her hips. “You didn’t pick out a single thing in this place, did you?”

      “How do you know that?”

      “If you ever sat on that couch, you’d know it was wickedly uncomfortable and it isn’t nearly big enough.” She peered into the kitchen, hummed under her breath and turned back to him. “The only thing that really feels lived in, aside from the bedroom where you probably spend most of your time when you’re home, is the bookshelf.” She pointed at the СКАЧАТЬ