15. Cameron
Cameron
Cam wasn’t sure how he kept talking as if nothing was wrong. But he had delivered hundreds of these speeches, so maybe muscle memory was kicking in. Had he really just hallucinated his hottest one-night stand into being a few feet away from where he was standing on a stage?
He blinked. She didn’t disappear. She was wearing a dark jacket and light-blue shirt, open at the neck. Trousers? One leg was crossed over the other. Her glossy brown hair was pulled back, her fringe was heavy over her eyes. Dark brown velvet. Glowing. Mischievous. Sultry.
His body reacted, tightening. Hardening. Shit. She wasn’t a hallucination. She was here. Improbably. Unbelievably. Somewhere in his head a little voice was saying, Thank God. He avoided looking at why it was such a relief to see her again.
He noticed she’d slunk down in her chair, not looking at him. But then she did glance at him, their eyes met and an electric jolt went straight to his crotch. Got you. Her cheeks were puce. Hot. Like her …
With a will he hadn’t had to call on for some time, he dragged his brain and body back from the brink and somehow got through the rest of the speech, before taking a seat and launching into a Q&A.
At one point when he was checking again to make sure she was still there, a voice broke him out of his trance.
‘Um, Mr Delahunt?’
He looked back at the emcee, who was politely waiting for a response to a question he’d have to ask her to repeat.
But before that he glanced back at Elizabeth – he’d find out her real name soon enough – and sent her an explicit look that said, If you try to leave I’ll come after you, and turned back to the task at hand.
Because one thing was clear – after seeing her again, here, now, no way was he letting her go again.
He told himself it was only because she’d been the hottest one-night stand he’d ever had, and not because he suddenly felt a need to know why she’d left without saying goodbye and what she’d meant by fun?