arm through his and led her towards the hotel’s restaurant. ‘You look great, Lally. You’re made for bright colours.’
‘That’s what Mum says.’ Business, Lally! She must remember tonight was about his work, no matter how he’d been looking at her or how it felt to walk at his side and feel as though she were made to belong there.
‘Over dinner we’ll discuss where this has put you in terms of figuring out your heroine,’ Lally declared, and led the way with determination towards their dining table.
Lally looked amazing; the thought washed through Cam yet again as he escorted his housekeeper into the restaurant. She looked amazing, was dressed amazingly and walked incredibly in heels that would have stopped a lot of women in their tracks.
He’d told Lally she was made for colours. What he hadn’t said was that she was made for all of this—the dress, the shoes, the lovely hair, the sparkle in her eyes…
Yes, he had needed this research for his story. Seeing Lally in the clothes had somehow made her more vibrant and real to him, and that had, indeed, already helped him to start seeing his book’s heroine.
Not an ice-blonde, but a woman in her late thirties with elegant looks and straight brunette hair in a cap-cut to her head. A woman who wore classic black. Lally’s reverse-psychology theory was working. Her quirky approach to the problem had got him well on the way to resolving it.
He’d thought that to fix his writer’s block he needed a housekeeper to free up his time so he could concentrate better.
What he’d needed was tonight’s insights.
‘This way, please.’ The waiter seated them with a flourish at the table Cam had booked earlier. The man’s gaze rested for a long moment on Lally’s beauty.
Cam could only silently agree.
‘I feel quite transformed.’ Lally’s fingers toyed with the clasp of the small bag in her lap after the waiter walked away. ‘Cinderella ready for the ball, except the shoes aren’t glass.’ Her lips pressed together. ‘Well, this isn’t about me. What would your book character be wearing? What would she have bought in the shop?’
‘The shoes are better than glass.’ They revealed the beauty of Lally’s calf muscles, the delicate shape of her feet, the slender ankles. But that wasn’t something Cam should tell his housekeeper. ‘My heroine would be in a black dress. Full length and fitted. She’s in black stiletto-shoes with a closed toe and heel—what do you call those?’
‘Pumps?’
‘Yes.’ Cam nodded. ‘She’s wearing diamonds, a choker around her throat, a thick tennis-bracelet style of cuff on her right wrist. Earrings that are a carat apiece.’
‘You’re working her out! That’s great.’ Lally glanced down at the bag in her lap. ‘The diamanté on this is amazing. It looks so real.’
Cam thought about avoiding her gaze when she raised it, but in the end he simply returned it and hoped he didn’t look too guilty. Or too sheepish. ‘They are real, but there aren’t many, and they’re very small. The bags with fake stones cost nearly as much.’
He added somewhat craftily, ‘It’s the perfect size for a small ladies’ handgun.’
‘Ooh.’ Lally’s eyes lit up and she leaned forward in her chair, her whole face alight with interest and excitement. ‘Is she an assassin? A double agent?’
‘Close to that.’ He knew he was being mysterious, but the desire to tease her just a little had got hold of him. Cam’s gaze tracked over her hair and the sweep of her neck, the soft nape, and he forgot about his characters.
Instead, Cam wanted to kiss Lally right there at the base of her neck, to inhale the scent of her skin and brush his lips over the side of her neck and across her face. He felt ridiculously proud that he’d been able to distract her about the cost of the bag. ‘Don’t tell anyone what ideas I have in mind for the heroine.’ He winked. ‘I have to keep the book’s secrets until it hits the shelves, otherwise my career as a writer is over.’
‘I won’t tell a soul.’ She crossed her heart with her fingers, joining in the fun. ‘I guess it’s all right to confess I’m enjoying the dress, and I love the shoes. I had a pair that were similar when I was fresh out of high school.’ Lally made this admission almost guiltily. ‘They were cheaper, and not quite as pretty, but they made me feel…’
‘Beautiful? You are.’
Maybe he shouldn’t have said it—probably he shouldn’t have said it—but the words were out.
‘Thank you.’ Lally registered Cam’s words and tried not to let her feelings melt. If she simply felt complimented, that would be okay, still manageable. The charming man tells the girl she looks great, the girl appreciates his words of admiration and takes them for what they are: a compliment. The same as he might give to any other woman while they were working on an unusual project together.
But she didn’t feel only complimented; she felt Cam’s awareness of her, and hers of him. She felt the consciousness that flowed back and forth between them that had been beneath the surface from the start of the night, but hidden under the excitement and fun factor of their research and role-playing.
That consciousness was there. Even now as they sat here, Cam’s upper body leaned forward as though he’d like to close the distance of the table that separated them and press a soft kiss to her lips.
Lally’s body leaned in too, until she forcibly stopped herself and straightened her spine.
She had to remember that Cameron Travers was her employer, not a man she would like to melt into, to kiss and be kissed by.
‘We should choose something to eat.’ Lally dropped her gaze to the menu; she flipped it open and stared blindly at the entrées. ‘Do you need us to choose anything specific for research purposes?’
‘No. Just choose what you’d like to eat.’ Cam, too, turned his attention to his menu.
You see? They were being perfectly sensible.
Eventually the list of dishes unscrambled itself enough that Lally could read it: tuscan prawns; artichoke and sweet-potato soup—Cam would avoid that one—lamb, leek and bread broth; baked cheese bites in puff pastry with a dark-plum dipping sauce.
‘I think I’ll have the broth.’ Lally rejected the appeal of spicy prawns, of sensually melted cheese in pastry. ‘Yes, the broth. Something healthy and ordinary. It seems exactly what I’d like.’
She was a sensible, ordinary girl, after all, even if she had allowed herself to be swept up in the purchase of a lovely dress and a pair of stunning shoes.
Over all, Lally had progressed past being influenced by emotions, sudden whims or anything else uncontrolled.
Sam had taught her that lesson—well, in truth, the pain she had caused out of knowing him had taught her. Lally’s good cheer wobbled.
In that moment Cam glanced at her, smiled and said softly, ‘Thank you, Lally, for being such a good sport tonight. I’ve really enjoyed myself, enjoyed the research. I’ve got ideas coming into focus in my mind. You’ve helped me to
