it’s my own personal space. I need my personal space.”
Adam nodded. “I know what you mean. Our house was big but it was always filled with people. So I couldn’t wait to get a place of my own where I could stretch out and do my own thing.”
She didn’t respond. She didn’t want to talk about personal things with him anymore.
“So what kind of shop do you have?” he asked.
“Ah, it’s a design shop. I’m a fashion designer.”
Adam contemplated her words. “You’re CK Davis Designs?” he asked incredulously.
Camille slammed her fork down then took a deep breath trying to control her wayward emotions. “Don’t sound so surprised.” She couldn’t help feeling a bit hurt by his question. As if she, the ranting woman that had interrupted their big meeting, couldn’t possibly be capable of owning a business.
“I wasn’t in any way insulting you. I own several of your suits and my mother loves your stuff. I’m just amazed that I’m actually sitting here with you.”
That’s it, she was a goner. Camille’s heart fluttered and turned somersaults at his words. He was flattered to be here with her. She could just picture him in a CK Davis suit. The head of her men’s department was Palio Victor, a very talented man who obviously knew what other men were looking for in clothes.
Here she was having dinner with a notoriously handsome man who had just admitted to being happy to be with her. If she were naïve enough to believe that she could have that type of luck she’d be ecstatic at the possibilities presenting themselves. But she knew better.
Adam Donovan was happy to be with her for one reason and one reason only, her father’s house.
This was business to him. She was just a way to get the deal he wanted.
It wasn’t personal. He wasn’t really sitting here with Camille, the woman. Why would a man as rich and good-looking as he was ever want to do that?
Adam watched her closely. There was something about the way she looked. She had very expressive eyes, ones that gave away each and every emotion she felt at the exact time she was feeling it.
He’d watched her go from simmering anger to eager curiosity to extreme sadness. And with each change his need to know her better increased.
Now, he watched the way her gaze flitted around the room, to see if anyone was watching them, he presumed. He rarely gave consideration to other people or what they said about him. As one of the Triple Threat Brothers he was always in one newspaper or another. Whether it be about his business or what the press assumed was going on in his personal life, he and his brothers had garnered their share of front-page appearances. He’d learned long ago to take it all in stride.
Adam sat back in his chair and gave this situation as much serious thought as he could muster at the moment. His carefree persona did not allow him to overly examine situations like this. The one thing he knew for certain was that he liked Camille Davis.
He’d watched her back at the office as that conference room had cleared. She was graceful and elegant, yet still a bit timid. He hadn’t tried to touch her as he’d so desperately wanted to, but instead had led her out of the room and to his waiting car in front of the building. She’d sat close to the door as if she planned to throw herself out of the car if he made one false move.
And a lot of moves had crossed his mind. Her perfume was soft and delicate and floated through the interior of the car, casting him under a heady sensual spell. His blood pumped hard and fast throughout his body, desire building a wall of tension at the base of his neck as he sensed this would not be an easy conquest. Some women took more time, more finesse than others. Camille Davis was one of those women.
“Your father was a good man,” he said because she was looking like she was about to take off at any moment. That confused him a bit. She seemed to have a very contradictory personality. She’d barged into that meeting this afternoon with confidence and spunk but now that she was here, alone with him, she seemed tense and withdrawn. “I met him once about a year ago. That’s when I first got the idea to buy his house.”
Her eyes focused on him. “You asked my father if you could buy the house? What did he say?”
“It was a very impromptu meeting. I was in L.A. I’d seen a picture of the house in a magazine at a hotel. I was so impressed by the photos I showed up on his doorstep. And because he recognized my name he let me in. He was very gracious and gave me a grand tour. I asked what the price tag was and he laughed.” Adam smiled as he remembered that evening. “He offered me a drink and told me that houses were for sale but his home was his sanctuary and there weren’t enough zeroes in the balance of the Federal Reserve that would make him part with it.”
She nodded. “That sounds like something Daddy would say.”
There it was, that tiny spark in her eyes, that wistful bit of happiness that she refused to take hold of. He wondered why she was so intent on being sad. “I don’t want you to think I’m a vulture. I did not pounce on this property the moment I heard your father had passed.” Her opinion of him was important. Why, he wasn’t quite sure.
“If you know that he didn’t want to sell it while he was living why are you trying to get it now?”
He sighed because her gaze pierced him. She was making him think about this deal way too deeply. “Because it’s my business. It’s what I do.”
“You buy properties that aren’t for sale?” she inquired while slowly lifting her glass to her lips.
He didn’t miss the bite in her words and found he preferred even that to her looking sad and defeated. “I find properties with the potential to make me a lot of money. I buy them and I renovate them. Then I resell them for a profit.”
“A shrewd business man, I see.”
Adam shrugged. “I’m good at it.”
“I’m good at cursing people out but I don’t do it for a living,” she snapped.
He smiled. “I’m not a hitman or a traitor. I’m an investor. It’s a legitimate business, not to mention a profitable one. It’s sort of like you being a designer.”
She frowned. “How do you figure that?”
“You look at old styles, old clothes that used to work or used to be in fashion. And then you put a new spin on them. You add more expensive material and your classic level of design.” He smiled because he could see that she was seeing the similarities. “And then you sell them, making yourself a tidy profit.”
She dropped her fork and glared at him. “Whatever. I am not selling my father’s house and this dinner is over.”
She was pushing her chair back, about to stand, when he reached across the table and grabbed her wrist. It was an impulsive move. He didn’t know why he’d done it and he didn’t know what he planned to do now that he had. All he knew for certain was that the thought of her walking out of the restaurant and out of his life again was too much to bear.
She stilled. He loosened his grip, letting his fingers rest complacently. He noted the erratic thumping of her pulse and wondered briefly if she were afraid of him. If so,
