Page 103 of Flirting with Forever

Cam flushed at his protectiveness, and he gazed at her, unblinking.

“Unfortunately my extracurricular activities aren’t exactly what the electors are looking for—especially the hundred and sixteen acres of canvas activity about to break on Monday—” She caught herself. He felt bad enough about the paintings, and the fault had been hers.

“Nonsense,” he said. “Do you think my portrait of the Duchess of Portsmouth made her any less a dynast of society? Do you think the nude of Nell diminished her influence? Self-confidence breeds power, Cam. Frank, unapologetic self-confidence is the ultimate currency.”

“Really?”

“The electors’ concerns are beneath you. Show courage in the face of judgment and you’ll have them in the palm of your hand.”

His eyes shone with the same sort of undemanding admiration they’d had when he was painting her. Her spine straightened. He was right. What the museum needed was a leader. Leaders rise above distractions. Leaders make things happen.

“Well, I still have that Van Dyck acquisition coming in, you know. Two-point-one million.”

“There. You see? Though for the record I must add that two million dollars for a Van Dyck is beyond my understanding.” He shook his head in mock disdain. “So, ’tis settled, aye? You will stay and fight.” And when Cam threw her chin up then down, he added, “In any case, what would you have done if you’d left?”

Had she really thought she would go with Jacket? To London? Away from the town she loved so much? But clearly she had, for why else would she be so sure that leaving was the right thing to do?

Peter saw the calculation in her eyes and must have guessed the reason for it as well.

“What is Jacket to you?” he asked softly. A muscle in his jaw flexed.

“He’s nothing.”

“Cam.”

He lifted her chin, and she hooded her eyes, unwilling to let him see. He brushed the top of her sweater and she flushed. The necklace was gone. She had moved the ring to her finger.

For an instant Peter swayed, but he found his composure.

“He’s a good man, aye? I need to know that much, at least.”

“He asked me to marry him,” she said.

“There is a certain inarguable goodness in that, I suppose,” Peter said, smiling, though the smile died away when he added, “And you will?”

“No,” she said. “I want you.”

“I am not to be had,” he said sadly. “I must return. I have pleased myself here far too long.”

“Stay.”

“Oh, my dearest.”

She brought her mouth to his. She could feel the sense of his body change from sorrow to desire.

“Campbell,” he warned when they parted.

She drew her fingers along his jaw and the sleek groove of his ear.

He made a whimpering noise, which Cam heightened with a flick of her tongue. She wanted to chase the sadness from his heart like a wildfire clearing fields, and she’d use every tool at her command.

She brought herself against him, feeling the long bones of his legs and girded steel of his hips, and pressed herself closer.

He stood to free himself. She followed, and he ensnared her in his arms.

“Stop,” he begged.

She leaned back, and he buried himself in the expanse of her collarbone. With the barest twist, she brought the fullness of her bosom to his lips.