Chapter 5

I t took me a solid four, five seconds to find the breath to speak again, but finally, my hand clenching the champagne flute tightly, I whispered, "Amelie…?"

She leaned across the table, dropping her voice to that same husky whisper that had tied me up in knots at Club LIV. "I assume you'll keep my secrets."

My head was spinning, a heat burning behind my face. And I wasn't going to admit to the heat stirring in my chest. "I—that was you? "

"Amelie doesn't exist. A wig and a pair of statement glasses, and suddenly people are willing to tell me things they wouldn't tell me as my real self."

I don't know how I didn't notice it—that elegant swoop to her jawline was the same, the gentle point of her chin, the pout of her lower lip, and those eyes—not just in how they looked, but in how they looked at me. I forced myself to take a breath, setting down the champagne flute, trying everything to relax my posture. "Or… when you want to do things that won't affect your reputation."

"Well. Someone catches on quickly." She looked out past me with a sharp, pointed sigh. "Sunday night, I'd thought you were quite the bit of good luck."

I'd never had bad luck manifest for someone around me quite like this before. My throat tightened, and I tried desperately to quell the dizzy feeling.

I hadn't kissed Cameron Mercier's assistant. I'd kissed Cameron Mercier herself. And now I was really sure her lingerie collection was impressive.

But this was one hell of a way to find out the girl you met in the bar was married.

"Well, then," I said, following her gaze out to the ocean—something easier to look at than each other. "I assume you want a different agent."

She flicked a smile at me, a dangerous glint there in her eyes. "Trying to get rid of me that quickly?"

"I wasn't—" I frowned. "What, then? Do you want us to just… continue as if nothing happened?"

She leaned across the table, folding her arms and smirking at me in that same way she had in the club, and my body betrayed me by reacting the same way, my stomach dropping out. "You're still perfectly capable of doing the work, aren't you? I hear you're María's best agent."

She couldn't have been coming onto me. Not still—not like this. But that sounded a lot like she was coming onto me.

Dammit. I didn't want to react the way I was. My heart was beating faster, and I couldn't pull my eyes away from hers. Cameron Mercier was married , and she was our client—our best chance at saving Queen Pearl, too. I shouldn't have been thinking about her like this.

But there was something intensely erotic about the sudden realization that she'd designed that lingerie I'd tried on yesterday. She'd been the one to make me look like that. And I wanted desperately to know what she thought of me in it.

"Besides," she said, relaxing back in her seat, kicking one leg up over the other, "I hear someone stole the credit for a big win you got at work recently. You wouldn't want to hand this over right now, would you?"

"I—" My face burned. "Miss Mercier—"

"There's no use in being formal," she laughed drily.

I swallowed. "Cameron. I will be happy to take you on a tour of the property, if you like. But I need to assert there are certain… boundaries."

"Oh, yes?" A smile played over her lips. "And you want to tell me you weren't trying to come on to my assistant? Don't tell me you didn't know she was connected to me. I know you do your due diligence."

I flushed. "I'd… been sent to find Amelie and try getting to know her. I hadn't expected… well…"

She relaxed. "Good. That's what I was hoping to hear."

"That I'd been—sent to try talking to her?" I scrunched up my face. "Er—to you?"

"Don't worry about it. So—I'd say those boundaries have already been walked all over, haven't they?"

"It's a bit different…" I paused. "Or—I thought it was different. If I'd realized it was you—"

"Let's keep it like this," she said, dropping her voice as she leaned in close to me. "You stay on my case, and you don't tell a soul about what happened in LIV. And in exchange, I stay quiet too—and I'll go ahead with your agency. Win-win."

She had the upper hand right now, and furthermore, she didn't need the upper hand. If she dropped her voice like that, tilting her head down and looking up at me with that devilishly playful glint in her eyes, I'd have agreed to just about anything.

I couldn't get it out of my mind how it had felt to kiss her. How she'd swept me up in her whirlwind, and how badly I'd missed the touch of her lips the second she was gone. And they were just as tempting now.

"It's a deal," I said, finally, feeling betrayed by my own voice. She smiled wider, relaxing in her seat, picking up one of the ceviche shooters and tipping it back into her mouth. I watched with a lump in the pit of my stomach as she wiped a spot of tomato juice off her lower lip, brushing one fingertip slowly over her lip and sucking it off the top of her finger.

"So," she said, jerking me back to attention, and the satisfied tone in her voice, that smirk on her face, said she'd enjoyed how much I'd gotten pulled in by her… performance. I flushed. "This is where you tell me about the property, isn't it?"

Was she actually looking to buy? The thought pressed cold into my head—it wasn't unheard of for people to come to us with a huge budget just to feel important, catered to, the sensation of power from us trying to woo them into making the purchase, and no intention of actually buying. The thought that maybe this was similar—but maybe she was looking for a different kind of wooing —

A resolution tightened in my stomach. Cameron was going to buy. If she was just in this for the rush of power, I'd leverage that feeling of power and make her want to buy. It was Queen Pearl's last shot.

And if I didn't, well—I'd have to explain why it hadn't worked out. And I wasn't ready to get into that.

"According to María," I said, sitting up straighter, "you said you like a modern style. Spacious, good views. This one is a little over your budget at sixty-six, but… I'm curious to see if you like it. We're starting with a penthouse suite in Miami Beach, not… er… not far from Fontainebleau. The owner was quite flattered to have a name like yours touring it."

She smiled wider. "Starting me over the budget to test out in practice just how flexible I am?"

I put a hand up. "Well, if you're already familiar with the tactic, we might as well just cut to the chase and you can tell me how much we can fleece you for."

She laughed. "I'm sure it's going to be a lovely space. But I wouldn't want to sign after the first showing, anyway. I don't like to rush things."

A wave of intense heat hit my face, like stepping out a door into a heavy summer day. I don't want to rush. Telling me to take time thinking about her body—picturing her naked—it was still all too easy to do.

This was a married woman. But I couldn't help myself.

I took a long breath, putting on a smile. "It's more fun that way," I said. "Taking your time. Thinking it over."

"Mm." A wicked smile spread over her features. "I couldn't agree more. Maybe this arrangement is good luck, after all. You seem to get me."

I didn't get anything going on right now. But I'd be damned if I was letting this slip by. "I'm glad you're not too unimpressed," I said, putting on an air of ease. "I'm sure you're used to yacht rides from people trying to win you over. It must be boring by now."

Her smile widened, and my stomach dropped out when she bit the corner of her lip. "Normally, I'd agree. But it can be much more exciting depending on who's trying to win me over."

I felt my face heat up, but I wasn't backing away for anything at this point. "Hm. I'm sure you say that to everyone."

She laughed, and I recognized it just like in the club—the tightening in her neck, in her chest, the rush of it all. And it was just as satisfying doing it to Cameron as it was to Amelie. "I believe we've had this conversation… Cara."

I sipped lightly at my champagne. "I'm not sure who that is."

"Oh, I'm sure you're not. So, what made you want to take on this job, then, London? A particular fan of mine?"

I pursed my lips, fighting back the playful smile that bubbled naturally to the surface. "Are you asking about what kind of lingerie I wear?"

She bit her lip, smiling wider. "Do I need to spell it out in any more detail?"

It was a delirious turn-on how… forward she was. Not forceful, but nothing coached, nothing held back. I felt my lips dry, and I took a sip of champagne. "María told me to take on your case," I said. "I hadn't even known you were a real person before that. I thought it was just a brand name."

She tutted. "Are you supposed to admit to that?"

"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.