Okay this chapter is mainly Cam and Mercedes at the gallery. Enjoy!

MERCEDES

The silence in the car is only slightly tense. Well, maybe tense is the wrong word. For me, it feels… charged. Sexually charged. I wonder if Cam feels the same way. Maybe he doesn't. Maybe he flirts with all the girls like this. I think on that for a second. The prospect is both disappointing and aggravating. But I honestly don't think that's the case. It could just be my ego talking, but I don't think he's like that with just anybody. At least I hope not. For some reason, Cam seems like the faithful sort. I'd be genuinely surprised if he's ever cheated on Marissa. I bet he's an actual good guy. The kind that I desperately need in my life. The thing of it is, he'll never be mine because he's a good guy. By nature alone, a good guy would never cheat on his girlfriend, hence the impossibility of anything happening between Cam and me. Even if they were to break up, he'd probably be too nice a guy to hurt her like that, by dating her cousin. As Rachel would say, that sucks major ass!

"Did you solve it?" Cam's deep, heavenly voice interrupts my troubled thoughts.

"Solve what?"

"World hunger." I know I must be looking at him like he's sprouted wings or a third eye. He looks from the road to me a couple of times before he starts laughing.

"Yes, in case it isn't apparent at this point, I'm completely lost."

"So it would appear," he teases with a grin. "I just meant that you were thinking awfully hard. Is everything okay?"

I lean my head back against the padded leather headrest and I stare at Cam's handsome profile. With his hair combed smoothly to the side, unlike his brother's messed-up 'do, and his summer-tan skin, he looks like James Bond in his tux. And I fell victim to his charms as if he really were the dashing MI6 agent. He's got me shaken and stirred.

"You belong in a tux, you know that?" He frowns over at me but smiles. I straighten my head and face the windshield. "Ohmigod, could I be any more random?"

He chuckles.

"Actually, I think the answer to that is yes."

"You know me well, Bond." He chuckles again.

"Bond? As in James Bond? Where did that come from?" I turn my head to look at him again. Immediately it gets all fuzzy with hormones.

"Um, I was, uh, I was thinking about being shaken and stirred." He looks over at me and quirks one brow. "I mean I was thinking how well you could probably shake and stir something." Ohmygod "I mean, how well you could probably shake and stir a drink. Not me." I snort.

"You were?"

His mouth curves into a sexy grin. With that brow raised and those lips curled up at the corners, he looks exactly like his brother. Like the twins that they are. I just stare at him, quite embarrassingly—again— for several seconds before my wits return and I begin to chastise myself.

FYI, that's the wrong kind of thing to think in an effort to settle hot-and-bothered thoughts. That visual sends me into another brief catatonic state as I fantasize about riding in the driver's seat of Cam's car. With Cam still in it. After several seconds, I remember that he'd said something.

"Um, what?" I ask, literally shaking my head to get back some focus. Cam frowns.

"Mercedes, are you all right?"

I sigh and turn to face straight ahead again. Note to self: Do not expect coherent thought to be possible when staring at Cam. Motor skills may be impaired as well. Take necessary precautions. I almost snicker when I picture myself putting on a helmet, knee pads, and a mouth guard every time Cam enters the room. Then I think of what I could do in the knee pads…

I'm pretty relieved when Cam slows and guides the car into the parking lot of the art gallery. Even though there are no appreciable signs indicating the nature of the establishment, I know that's where we're at. I Googled it before we left so I'd know a little bit of what to expect. I'd hate to fall down some unforeseen stairs or something. I need zero help making a fool of myself in front of this guy. As the valet pulls away from the curb in the BMW, Cam offers me his arm again and leads me into the gallery.

My first impression as I look around at all the artificially tanned skin, medically enhanced figures, and bottle-blond heads is that I've stumbled into Barbie's mansion. Only the black-and-white version, as everyone is in black formal attire. But that's not the only thing gone awry in this Barbie-fied alternate universe. There are no Kens! I see only nerdy, ugly, or just plain old men on most of the women's arms. That's when I realize this must be a trophy wife convention instead. I look down at my own red-clad, curvaceous physique and then back up at the mostly monochromatic room. As I'm debating running for the exit, Cam leans down to whisper at my ear.

"Is something wrong?"

"I feel like the only splash of color in an abstract painting."

"You are the splash of color. But there's nothing wrong with that."

I look at him. He's smiling. It appears to be genuine. He doesn't seem embarrassed by my appearance. I can only hope he's not. Mentally, I put on my big-girl panties. If he's not bothered, there's no reason for me to be. Right? Right. I take a deep breath.

"All right, then. Let's go."

The farther we make our way into the room, the more heads turn in our direction. Most of the men seem to be appreciative of my attire. But the women? Eh… not so much. Cam stops here and there to speak to several couples. It's obvious he's here on business. Besides the perfunctory compliments to the women, he mainly addresses the men. He makes polite chitchat, but there's lots of measuring up going on. Thankfully, he seems to be getting nods of approval left and right. Why do you even care? It's not like his career or what his peers think should matter to you. But it does. Unfortunately, after about twenty minutes, the gloves start coming off. Or should I say that the claws start coming out. And it all begins with a girl who knows Marissa.

"Cam, where's your better half?" the girl I've dubbed Catty Barbie asks. She looks me up and down with a thinly veiled sneer that says she thinks I might've eaten his better half.

"Last-minute change of plans. I'll be sure to tell her you asked about her."

"Please do," she says , not taking her eyes off me . "And who might this little peacock be?" Peacock? Are you kidding me?

"This is Marissa's cousin, Mercedes."

"It's a pleasure, Mercedes." It's so not a pleasure, her look says. "Interesting choice for the evening." She nods her imperious head at me.

"His better half chose it," I reply with a super bright smile, wishing the floor would open up and swallow me. Her collagen-filled lips turn up in a smirk.

"Nice." Cam clears his throat.

"I'll tell Marissa to give you a call," he says to Catty Barbie before he turns to her mate. "Spencer, I'm sure we'll talk next week." Spencer nods to Cam, then smiles at me. His expression says he's sorry that his "better half" isn't better at all, more like toxic instead. I smile in return, thinking I hope showers with her are worth it because I see only misery in his future.

I'm glad Cam doesn't mention the interaction as we move on to the next couple. This pair is every bit as misfit as the previous one. This guy is so dorky-looking, all he really lacks are black-rimmed glasses with tape over the bridge piece and a pocket protector for his tux. And the girl? I'm pretty sure he got her from a movie set where the music sounds like bow chicka bow wow. That or she's inflatable. I think to myself that there's no way these two are going to be nasty. They look so comical themselves, surely they won't throw stones. But they do. Big ones. In my head, I dub this one Bimbo Barbie. My assessment of her is only further reinforced when she starts laughing at me the instant we stop in front of them.

"Oh my gawd! Somebody didn't get the memo."

She doesn't even try to keep her voice down. My mouth drops open and my cheeks sting a little when, from the corner of my eye, I see several heads turn in our direction. I can almost feel judgmental eyes burning their way through my brightly colored dress. I say nothing and make no move to acknowledge her in any way other than to smile, a smile I hope belies my growing humiliation.

Still, Cam doesn't speak. And I'm grateful. I'd likely burst into tears. We move on to the next couple. And the next. And the next. Each gets progressively worse. Just when I think there isn't a ruder person left in the room, I meet another one. I shall call her Vapid Barbie.

"Where did you get that dress?"

My stomach drops into my shoes. I want nothing more than to run and hide. After I hunt down Marissa and strangle her with her own dress, of course. To make matters worse, I feel tears prick the backs of my eyes. I blink quickly and force my lips up into another smile. It's when I feel Cam stiffen at my side that anger makes an appearance. It's bad enough that they're doing this to me, but Cam has to work with some of these people! I don't bother to stifle the sharp reply that comes to my tongue.

"I stole it from a homeless person," I say, straight-faced. "She was lying right beside the stripper who gave you yours."

Her expression is blank for several seconds before my meaning sinks in. Then her face turns red and her glossy lips drop into a nice big O of shock. For one second, I'm satisfied. Seeing her speechless makes me feel a teensy bit better. But then I remember the guy at my side. The one I wanted to make a good impression for. Guilt hits me in the face like a bucket of ice-cold water. And I feel sick. I smile sweetly at Vapid Barbie and her clueless mate.

"Pardon me while I find the ladies' room." To Cam I whisper, my heart in my eyes, "I'm so sorry." And I make my escape.

I search the hostile environment for the universal signs of a restroom. When I spot the little silhouette of a girl in a dress, I practically run for it. I don't, of course, mainly because I'd probably trip and fall and give everyone an even bigger laugh. But I do walk very, very quickly. In the bathroom, I keep my head down and make a beeline for the solitude of a stall. Once inside it, I close the door, lean back against it, and let the tears flow. I'm so embarrassed. And so angry. And so embarrassed again. And for them to be so nasty in front of Cam… My God, those girls make Marissa's vicious bite feel like butterfly kisses! No wonder Cam doesn't mind her. My tears turn bitter— bitter at them for humiliating me, bitter at me for caring about someone I can never have, and bitter at the reality of how ill-suited I am for a guy like that.

After several more minutes of wallowing in self -pity and the cruel why-oh-whys of life, I exit the stall. I know if I don't get back soon, someone will think I'm in here blowing up the toilet. And that's the last thing I need. No, you horrid ho-bags, my stress response is not intractable irritable bowel syndrome! Thankfully the bathroom is empty, so I get to clean up my ravaged makeup and tear-streaked face in peace. I run a few paper towels under the cold water and hold them to my eyes like compresses, hoping they'll reduce the swelling. All they manage to do is make my already-wet lashes clump together. I shake my head at my reflection. The only thing I can do at this point is go back out there with my head held high and a smile on my face and try to finish the rest of the night without incident. You can do this, Merce, You can do this. I almost add for Cam, but even in my head, it sounds stupid and presumptuous. He's not mine to care for. No matter how much I wish he were. I take a deep breath and fling open the door to head back into the viper den. But I don't get very far. I stop dead in my tracks when I see Cam leaning against the wall right outside the ladies' room. His legs are crossed casually at the ankle, as his arms are crossed casually over his chest. His smile is faint. And sad. I say nothing. I don't know what to say. I fidget with the little wristlet purse dangling against my palm. Finally, he straightens and steps toward me. He doesn't stop until he is mere inches from me, forcing me to tilt my face up just to maintain eye contact. He brushes his thumb over the ridge of my cheekbone at the corner of my eye. I wonder briefly if I missed a streak of mascara. "

I'm so sorry," he whispers, closing his eyes as if in pain. His face is etched with regret and it tugs at my heart.

"Don't be. You can't control other people. I just hope I haven't embarrassed you too badly, or ruined any important business connections you were hoping to make."

"I don't care about business connections. Not at this cost."

"But you should. That was the whole point of coming tonight. It shouldn't be ruined by some random girl who's too much of a misfit to bring to functions like this."

"You're not the misfit. I am. I'm the one masquerading as something I'm not," he says pensively.

"Not being like them is a good thing, but you have to play by their rules. It's part of the game. It's part of who you are and what you do."

"It may be part of what I do, but it's not part of who I am. I'm not this guy. Not really. This," he says, tugging on the lapel of his tux, "serves a purpose. It's a means to an end. Nothing more." I frown.

"A means to what end?" Cam's eyes bore holes into mine and, for a second, I think he's going to tell me something. But then he changes his mind and smiles another small smile.

"Nothing I want to get into right now. Come on," he says, reaching down to take my hand. "Let's get out of here."

Cam leads me to the door and we leave without a backward glance. He doesn't say another word as he helps me into his car, starts it up, and heads toward the northern edge of the city. I don't ask where he's taking me; I really don't care. I'm just glad to be in his presence and away from all those other people. Anything else is just gravy. I'm a little surprised when I start seeing the buildings grow taller as Cam weaves his way through the streets of downtown. He slows and pulls into a parking garage, waving a card in front of an electronic eye. A gate lifts and he drives through. He slides into the first available spot and cuts the engine. Still, he doesn't say a word. He helps me out of the car and leads me to an elevator. Still, I don't ask questions. I'm sort of excited and very curious to see where he's taking me. I shouldn't be. Because he's not mine. But I am. He flashes his card before another red eye then punches the button for the twenty -fourth floor. The doors close with a hushed swish. We ride smoothly upward until the doors open into a luxurious, dimly lit reception area. Directional lighting sparkles like thousands of diamonds in the gold lettering that reads "Phillips, Shepherd, and Townsend." We're at the law firm where he works. With Marissa. And my uncle. Who's a partner. He's the Townsend in Phillips, Shepherd, and Townsend. I want to ask why we're here, but again, I don't. He takes my hand and tugs, leading me out of the elevator car into the quiet of the empty office. We make our way across to another, smaller bank of elevators. We go up two more floors, but when the doors open this time, it's to a breathtaking view of the brightly lit skyline of Atlanta. I gasp. I can't help it. I've never seen such a beautiful sight. It's like a postcard. Only real. I weave my way around groupings of expensive outdoor furniture until I reach the wall that surrounds the rooftop. The warm breeze teases the hair at my temples as I look out at the Bank of America building across the way.

"Up here, people like that don't exist," Cam says quietly as he comes to stand beside me. He's so close his shoulder is brushing mine. I fight the urge to lean against him. I can feel warmth from his body radiating toward me, teasing me with its enticing heat. I shiver in response. "Are you cold?" he asks, turning toward me to run the backs of his fingers up and down my upper arm, as if testing the temperature of my skin. "Here," he says, taking off his jacket and draping it over my shoulders. The jacket is warm and heavy and smells just like Cam, like whatever cologne or soap he uses. I figure it must be called delicious, maybe by Armani or some other fancy designer. It almost makes my mouth water. "Is that better?" He wraps his arm around me, too, as if to ensure I won't be cold. Of course, I won't complain. Even if I were sweating, I wouldn't complain.

"That's much better, thank you." We stand in silence for so long I finally begin to get uncomfortable. But just when I start to rack my brain for things to say, Cam speaks. And drops a nice little bomb.

CAM

"My father's in prison. For murder."

Way to just blurt it out, idiot! I don't know why I feel so compelled to tell Mercedes all my dirty little secrets, but I do. Maybe it's because she feels like the misfit. I can relate to that. In a world where appearances and reputation mean everything, I have to work extra hard to make sure that everything I say and do is above reproach. It was a nearly impossible feat to overcome, outlive, and outdistance myself from my father and his imprisonment, but I did it. After years and years of hard work and kissing all the right asses, I finally did it. And now I'm one step closer to my goal. After what feels like a freakin' eternity of silence, I look down at her. She's looking up at me, her lips slightly parted in shock. Her bright doe eyes, dark in the dim light, are focused sharply on mine. But the thing I notice most isn't what's in them— surprise, disbelief, curiosity, maybe a little pity— it's what's not. Judgment. Disdain. Horror. None of the things I've so often seen in people's eyes when I've had to tell them my story. Now I want to kiss her even more. Damn! You just get more and more appealing.

"What? No running away, screaming?" I say, unable to keep the slight trace of bitterness from my voice. She surprises me with a grin and a dubious look.

"I think we've clearly established that I'm nothing like the people you normally associate with." I laugh. And it's genuine.

"Yeah, I guess we have." She turns toward me. The only thing on her face now is interest. Simple curiosity. I'm glad to see that trace of pity gone. Of the many things I'd like to have from this girl, pity is nowhere on the list.

"Wanna talk about it?" I shrug.

"It doesn't bother me as bad as it used to. It feels more like part of my past now than anything else."

"It must be more than that for you to want to tell me about it." Perceptive. She's as smart as she is beautiful. And probably doesn't think she's either one.

"Maybe. I don't know. I don't even know why I brought it up." I look out at the twinkling city lights. Now I feel like a fool for mentioning it.

"But you did. Now you have to tell me or I'll be forced to think you're cruel and sadistic."

"Maybe I am." She narrows her eyes at me, sizing me up.

"Nah. I don't believe it. Besides, isn't there some law against cruel and unusual punishment? You can't be a lawyer and a lawbreaker at the same time." I chuckle at her logic. I can't help but wonder what she'd think if she knew the truth.

"People do it all the time."

"But you aren't 'people.' You're the guy who's getting ready to put me out of my misery."

"Misery, huh?" I ask, quirking one brow at her. I know my smile probably gives away the direction my thoughts have taken, and Mercedes manages to surprise me again when she immediately jumps in to play along.

"Yes, misery," she agrees with a smile. "You're not the kind of guy to leave a girl hanging, are you?"

Although she seems sweet and innocent and shy, at times she seems ready to participate in a much more intimate and dangerous game. I know I shouldn't be thinking about games or misery or anything else concerning Mercedes Jones. But damn if I'm not! Dark and dirty things come to mind, things like how much pleasure I'd get from putting her in misery. But not the bad kind of misery. No, I want Mercedes in the kind of misery that makes her sweat and writhe, and then beg me to come inside her. I feel the need to resituate inside my pants, and I remind myself that I'm drifting onto dangerous ground. My mind understands that, but looking down into Mercedes's face, at her sparkling eyes and lush lips, I can't for the life of me get that through to any other body parts.

"Only if that's what she likes," I say, reaching out to pick up a long black lock of hair from Mercedes's shoulder. The strand feels like silk between my fingers. So does her skin against the back of my hand. "What do you like, Mercedes?"

I think I see her chest rise as she catches her breath. Maybe she'll be the one to throw on the brakes. God knows I'm not going to. I might regret it later, but right now I'm not thinking about anything but what it would be like to see Mercedes without that red dress. Her eyebrow arches. I don't know if it's really in acceptance of my challenge or if that's just what I'm hoping. But then she licks her lips and drops her chin a little, looking up at me from beneath her lashes. She's coy. But not on purpose. It's just the way she is. And it's an even bigger turn-on.

"You mean you don't know? I figured a four-star general would know all sorts of things the rest of us didn't."

"Maybe I just like to do my own recon."

"And what does that consist of?" I know I should stop while I still can. Only I can't.

"I like to use all my senses to get a good lay of the land."

"Lay of the land?" she asks, the corners of her mouth dimpling.

"Of course," I reply. "So I can plan my attack."

"Recon? For an attack? Do tell."

"First I start with touch." I reach out and brush one dimple with my fingertip, then slowly drag it inward, across her pouty bottom lip. "Touch is invaluable. The texture of the terrain tells me how… aggressive my attack needs to be. Some places require a much more delicate approach than others."

"I see ," she says softly, her warm breath tickling my finger. "What else?"

"Smell," I say, sliding my hand into her hair to hold it back as I bury my face in the lightly scented skin of her neck. "A certain scent can tell me if I'm heading in the right direction. Something sweet. Something…musky," I murmur. I hear her gasp when I gently bite the flesh beneath her ear. "And hearing," I whisper. "Sometimes the softest sounds, even a moan can tell me a great deal about how close I am to attaining my goal." I feel her hands latch onto my forearms. Her fingernails are biting into my skin through my shirt. All I can think about is how I want to feel them on the skin of my back instead. Her breath is coming fast and shallow in my ear.

"What else?" she pants. I lean back and look down into her face. Her lids are heavy over her dazzling eyes and her cheeks are flushed with everything that's happening between us. She doesn't want to stop, either. There's no doubt in my mind.

"Taste." Her eyes flicker to my mouth and back again.

"And what do you taste?"

"Everything. I want to taste everything." I told her.

If I ever stood a chance of resisting her, it evaporates the instant she leans into me. So does every last ounce of finesse that I'm normally capable of. The kiss that should've started out slow starts out like a forest fire. The first taste of her tongue consumes me. And I'm lost. My hands are in her hair and my mouth is devouring hers. I give no thought to where I am or the girlfriend whose father I work for. I can't think past how badly I want to be inside of the girl in my arms. But why? Why do I want her so bad? No answer comes to mind. All thought seems to shut down when she wraps her arms around me and I feel those fingernails dig in. I groan into her mouth and I hear her purr in response. I tug on her hair, maybe a little more roughly than I intend, and her kiss turns ravenous. She leans into me, like she can't get close enough. I turn her around and press her back to the wall. My body is plastered to her length. I can feel every hard inch of me sinking into every soft inch of her. It's the clothes between us that bring me up from the kiss. I lean back to look at her. Her eyes are dark and her lips are swollen. I can hear sanity knocking at the door, but I ignore it when she leans slowly forward, stretching up on her tiptoes, to bite my lower lip.

"Oh my God," I groan, diving back into the kiss.

Mercedes meets me right where we were. No reservations. Without breaking contact with her lips, I bend to pick her up and carry her to one of the chaise lounges away from the elevator doors. I lay her on it, stretched out full length, and I straighten to look down at her. Her knees are slightly bent, giving me a sneak peek at her slim ankles. My attention doesn't stray from there. Dropping to my knees, I press my lips to the top of her foot, pushing the material of her dress up as I make my way to her calf. My palm skates lightly over her smooth skin, pushing her dress along, as I lick and kiss a trail to her knee , then to the inside of her thigh. She spreads her legs the tiniest bit.

An invitation.

I graze the tender skin with my teeth as the tips of my fingers ascend to brush her damp panties. I hear her gasp. I get hard in anticipation of hearing the noises she'll make when I'm driving my body into hers. It's when she stiffens that I realize something's wrong. I lift my head and my eyes meet her very alert ones. I'm confused when I see them fill with tears.

"What's wrong, Mercedes? Did I hurt you?" I didn't think I was rough… She shakes her head.

"No, it's just… I just… we can't do this."

As much as I hate to admit it, I know she's right. Marissa is too important in my plans to mess things up now. And Mercedes is way too nice a girl for me to drag her into my crazy life. With a sigh, I rest my forehead against her knee.

MERCEDES

"You're right ," I hear Cam murmur. Then, when he picks up his head, he says more firmly, "You're right. Please accept my apology."

He seems stiff and …distant. And it's making an already uncomfortable situation much, much worse. I sit up and reach for his arm before he can stand up and move away.

"No, wait. Don't do that. It was my fault. I was flirting with you, knowing that you're taken. Very taken. It's as much my fault as yours. Can't we just sort of forget about it? Not let things get weird?" He watches me with those intense eyes for several seconds before he speaks. And when he does, I'm relieved.

"Sure," he says, getting to his feet and offering me his hand.

I slip my fingers inside his, and he squeezes them lightly and pulls me up. I look down to make sure my dress has righted itself around my legs, which it has, and when I look back up, Cam's eyes aren't on my face; they're on my chest. I look down to see what he's staring at. Much to my embarrassment, all our… aggressive kissing caused my dress to shift a little. My boobs are practically spilling out. There's no Nipple gate or true wardrobe malfunction, but there is one hellacious amount of cleavage showing. Cam is still holding my hand. I shake it loose and straighten my bodice. I can't help but grin at him when he finally meets my eyes.

"So that's how you charm the cobra," I quip. He smiles devilishly.

"If you really want to see what effect you have on my snake, I'd be happy to show you." I feel blood rush to my cheeks and heat gush into my belly. Just like that, we're almost back where we started. We stare at each other for several seconds and then Cam sighs. "I guess I should apologize again. I really don't act like this with most females. I swear." Casually, he takes my hand again and leads me to the elevator.

"Not only am I glad to hear that, but I believe you," I assure him. And I do. Believe him, that is. He's a good guy. I can tell.

"You do?" he asks. By his expression, it seems like he actually cares what I think. Huh! Go figure!

"Yeah, I do. I know the kind of guy you are."

"And what kind is that?" He ushers me onto the elevator.

"Smart, successful, driven, honorable." He laughs.

"Wow! Although flattering, that makes it sound like I should be either carrying a sword or meeting someone at dawn for a duel."

"I didn't mean it like that. I mean, you're all sorts of other things, but mostly you're a good guy. I can tell."

"And that's a good thing?" he asks, his expression dubious. I smile. "To me, that's a very good thing." He returns my smile and I have to look away. I feel like I've said too much. And I shouldn't have qualified my statement like I did. Idiot.

"Well, as long as you think so…"

We fall into silence on the way to the parking garage. I can't think past the flurry of my emotions and the feel of his thumb stroking the back of my hand. I know we shouldn't be holding hands as though we're on a date, but I can't bring myself to pull my fingers free. This will be over all too soon; I'm going to enjoy every last second of it while I can. Tomorrow, reality returns. And, with it, Marissa.

Cam sticks with polite chitchat on the way back, which is fine. I don't have to think too much to participate. I can just… be. And bask. And fantasize. I can easily imagine what it would be like to be heading home from a date with Cam. A real date. If he were mine. To have such a dashing, successful man at my side, one who turns me to mush with a look and sets me on fire with a touch. Cam is like the best of both worlds. But unfortunately, he belongs to a world I don't fit into. But Marissa does.

"So how do you like working for my brother?"

Sam. Just the thought of him, of his name, causes my stomach to twitch with excitement. The look he gave me as he bent his head to take the lime slice from between my lips was nothing short of predatory. Spending virtually any amount of time with a guy like that would be the ride of a lifetime. But then he'd leave me brokenhearted. They always do.

"I gather by your silence that it didn't go well. Do I need to extend my apologies on my brother's behalf, too?"

I'm ashamed of myself for thinking of Sam when his equally gorgeous, equally hot twin is sitting in the seat beside me. And he was just kissing me in ways that Sam didn't, yet I still think of Sam and get all gooey.

"Mercedes?" I jerk back to the present.

"Oh God, no! It went fine. I'm so sorry. I was thinking about work, actually. I have a shift on Wednesday."

"So you're enjoying it? And he was… all right to work with?" There's something about his tone…

"Why do you ask? Did you expect that he might not be?" Cam shrugs.

"No. Not really."

"Not really?"

"Well…"

"Well what?"

"Sam is sort of a… a…"

"If it's got someone as eloquent as you at a loss for words, I can only imagine what it says about him."

"No, it's not like that. It's just that I figured Sam would like you."

"Well, I'm glad he did. It's going to save me a lot of time and gas money." Cam tosses me a look of exasperation.

"That's not what I meant, and you know it."

"What did you mean, then?"

"Mercedes, you're beautiful, smart, funny. Any man would want you. And my brother is no different. He's just a little more…aggressive about what he wants. I didn't want him to run you off."

I think back to my banter with Sam about sexual harassment. I don't doubt he pushes the boundaries, but never once did I get the impression he might force himself on me or make unwanted advances. I just hope to God he doesn't know that his advances aren't unwanted. I wish they were.

"Well, you don't need to worry about Sam. He was a perfect gentleman and I have no reason to believe that might change. I work for him. He'll respect that."

From the corner of my eye, I see Cam look at me like I'm crazy. I ignore him. Our conversation is cut short when we pull into the lot outside the townhouse I share with Marissa. I feel a sigh lurking in my chest. I know Cam won't come in. Because I won't ask him. And that's for the best. It just happens to suck. As I suspect, he puts the car in park but leaves the motor running. It's for the best. It's for the best.

"Thank you," I say, meeting his fathomless eyes. "I had a really good time." His laugh is a disbelieving bark.

"No, you didn't." I smile. "Okay, I had mostly a really good time. Thank you for bringing me. And I really hope—"

"Ah, ah, ah," he begins, cutting me off. "Not another word. None of what happened was your fault. I should've expected nothing less from a bunch of vapid trophy wives. Not your fault at all." I can't help but think it's funny he uses two of the same adjectives I used for them earlier. Great minds…

"Well, the night would've turned out much differently if Marissa had been able to go with you. She'd have known exactly what to wear and…"

I trail off, for the first time realizing that I've been sabotaged. There is no doubt in my mind that Marissa knew exactly what would happen if I turned up dressed like I am.

"And what?" Cam prompts. I look over at him. He deserves so much better. So much more. I just wish I could give it to him. But I'd be career suicide for a guy like him.

"Oh, uh, just that she's much better suited to that kind of thing, that kind of crowd. I'm just a country girl." Cam leans forward and cups my cheek with his hand. He cocks his head slightly as he considers me.

"Don't do that. Don't ever make it out like you're less. Because you'd be gravely mistaken." He looks straight into my eyes, as though he wants me to see the truth of his words, as if he wants me to see his sincerity. And I do. It's there. It just doesn't change anything. It doesn't change that he's with Marissa. He's not that kind of guy. And I'm not that kind of girl.

"I appreciate that, Cam." I know I need to go. No matter how much I want him to kiss me again, no matter how much I want him to come to my room with me and finish what we started, I know I can't. I shouldn't. I won't. And neither will he. But if he did… I speak right over the top of that thought. There's no point in going there, because he won't.

"Good night, Cam." His lips twist into a wry smile. I wonder what he was expecting.

"Good night, beautiful Mercedes." Walking away from the car, away from Cam when there might be some small chance he would come with me, is the hardest thing I've ever done. It's not until the next morning I even remember Cam told me his father was in prison for murder. That's pretty bad when my hormones can block out a homicide.