Save the Last Dance (34 page)

And she loved this man. This was everything she'd ever dreamed of. Except…

Except in the dream he didn't just desire her, he hadn't just got caught up in the heat of the moment. In the dream he loved her back.

One miracle in an evening was enough to expect. She'd never realised Cameron
really
shared the intense attraction she felt for him until tonight. That should be enough. Asking him to love her too…Well, that was just being silly.

She put her hands on his upper arms, bracing herself slightly, and pulled away. Not enough to look into his eyes, but enough to be able to talk without just giving in to his magnetic pull and kissing him again.

‘Cameron, what is this? What are we doing?'

Cameron, as always, was more comfortable with actions than words, and he ran both hands down her back. The feel of them through the satin of her dress was even more delicious. He let them come to rest on the curve of her hips. Alice was very tempted to just shut up, close her eyes and stop asking difficult questions. Questions she wasn't even sure she wanted the answers to—because that would only break the spell once and for all.

Oh, she knew he wasn't about to go back to Jessica Fernly-Whatsit. Cameron might be fickle with his women, but there was no way he would be up here with her on the balcony, kissing her the way he'd kissed her, if he still had anything going with Jessica. He just wasn't that kind of man.

But she wasn't sure he was the kind of man who could give her all she wanted either. He kept himself locked up so tight, used his anger to power him forward. She didn't even know if he'd be brave enough to let that shield down and give all of himself to someone. And, even though this was Cameron she
was thinking about, Cameron who could so easily be the one she trotted around after for ever, she wasn't prepared to accept anything less than the full package from him.

It was high time she was somebody's first choice rather than just being second best.

 

Something was bothering Alice. He could tell. If only he had some of that intuition women were famous for, then he'd be able to work out
what
was making her brows pinch and her mouth set itself in a firm little line. He didn't like it when her mouth did that. It made her look very determined. And he'd much rather she was using her lips to kiss him again rather than produce an expression that put a niggle in his gut. He didn't know why, but he had the oddest feeling he wasn't going to like what she had to say next.

Maybe he could convince her to soften that line, to put the curves and arches of her lips to a much more pleasurable use. Maybe, just maybe, he could wangle it so they didn't need to talk at all. He was pretty sure he could convince her to sink against him again, to run her small fingers over his skin, to breathe tiny sighs of desire into his ears. And he didn't think he'd have to say a word to do it.

He moved his hands upwards from where they were still resting on the swell of her hips and circled her waist. She was so slender his large hands almost met in the middle, and somehow that made him feel even bigger and stronger. She seemed such a tiny, delicate thing in his hands, yet he knew that her response to him had been anything but delicate. In fact, it had completely blown him away.

Other women
tried
to be sexy when they were with him. They tried to live up to the idea of going out with an eligible millionaire bachelor as if they had to impress him to keep him
interested. And, to be honest, he required that of them. Wanted them to be the fantasy women they both pretended they were. Even women like Jessica.

He hadn't wanted to know and be known. He hadn't wanted to get close enough to anyone to let them see who he really was, to expose himself and make himself vulnerable. The temporary nature of his relationships had been the perfect solution. Move on to the next one, promising himself he was looking for the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, when really he was just running, running…

But with Alice it was different. She didn't do any of that with him. And that was what made her so wonderful and so confusing at the same time. She was sensuous and sexy because he knew every touch and every kiss was real, true, honest—as if she was undressing her soul for him.

Being a red-blooded man, the twin thoughts of ‘undressing' and ‘Alice' in close proximity made his core temperature rise. And thoughts of undressing led to thoughts of that dress, of sliding the wide straps off her shoulders and watching the heavy fabric sink to the floor.

She was looking at him, and underneath the film of caution in her eyes he saw matching heat, matching need. It was all the encouragement he needed to bend his head and deliver a kiss that was hot and sweet and hungry. Alice was still for a split second, and then she joined him, as if she'd been resisting but just couldn't hold back any longer. The knowledge just drove him even further overboard, made him want her even more.

What is this? What are we doing?

He knew exactly what they were doing. He knew exactly what he wanted and how he pictured this ending. And in his head the scenario involved that long leather sofa, him and Alice stretched along the length of it, and the sexiest dress
he'd ever seen—his dress now, as he hadn't officially given it to her yet—in an emerald heap on the floor.

He continued to kiss her, continued to blot out that concerned look in her eyes, and his hands skimmed her torso until they found their way under those silky straps. And then he was gently walking her backwards off the balcony and into the office.

After the third step Alice froze.

He wasn't a man to push in situations like this. In reality he'd never needed to. But that
something
that was bothering her, that he'd tried to wish away—it had just stamped its foot down hard, and it wasn't going anywhere until it had been dealt with.

Slowly he eased his hands from under the straps, careful to leave them in place, and dragged his lips from Alice's. But he was unable to resist returning for one last brush, one last taste, before he pulled away fully.

Just to keep his itchy fingers out of temptation's way, he ran his hands up her neck until he was cradling her head and just waited. This had to be about what Alice wanted.

This had to be about what Alice wanted.

The phrase repeated in his head.

How shallow, how
horribly
shallow, had he been up until now? All his relationships with women up until this moment in time had been about what
he'd
wanted. Not in the sense that he'd bullied or domineered—far from it. He'd always treated the women in his life well. But only because it had suited him to do so. Because he'd gone out with those women to boost his status, to prove to the rest of the male population that he could have what they could only dream about. This evening had turned all of that on its head.

First Fitzroy, showing that Cameron didn't have the best
relationship by far, that he only had a poor imitation of the real bond Daniel had with his wife. And now Alice—sweet, lovely Alice—turning him inside out with her honesty, with her fragile power.

So, instead of persuading her any further, he stepped back, gave her space.

‘Alice? Tell me.'

He knew he had to be the one to speak first, because he had been the one who had cut off the talking earlier. How he knew this he wasn't quite sure. This being real, being open, was all a bit new to him. He was just going to have to feel his way.

The pain he saw in her eyes made him wince.

The fear must have shown on his face, because her expression hardened.

‘I can't have a fling with you, Cameron. You know you can make me stay if you want to, but I'm begging you—let me go. Let me walk away. I'm not one of your perfect women.' She gave a dry little laugh and shook her head. ‘I wouldn't even know where to start!'

Then she surprised him by walking towards him and running her slim fingers down the length of his tie. When she reached the point at the bottom she flipped it over and parted the seam a little, revealing a brightly coloured lining.

‘Here she is,' Alice said quietly. ‘The other night I forgot…'

The blobs of colour all at once started to make sense. It wasn't just a swirling abstract pattern but a picture in the lining of his tie—a pin-up, to be exact. Betty Grable-style, with rolled hair, bright red lips and a skimpy white halter top. She was winking at him.

‘This is the kind of woman you need. Always ready, always glamorous, never having an off day. Who cares if she
isn't real? She'll never ask anything of you, never ask you for a piece of your soul. In short, she'll always be your perfect woman.'

She let the tie go and patted it back into place.

‘They're very collectible, you know. Ties like these. If you ever decide you don't want it you should be able to get a nice price for it.' She smiled brightly at him even as her eyes brimmed over. ‘Coreen's Closet would give you a really good deal.'

Despite his promise to himself to give her the space she wanted, he found himself reaching for one of her hands. ‘I don't want you to be like—'

She pulled her hand away. ‘
Please
, Cameron!' Tears shimmered on her lashes, ran down her cheeks.

He hated himself for being responsible for them, for not being enough of a man for her to stay for.

‘I need to go home,' she said in a flat voice.

‘You can have my car. It's—'

She shook her head. ‘All I need is my bag and my coat.'

He fetched her coat for her while she got her bag, and then she walked out through the door. But before she left she turned slightly and whispered one last thing. ‘Thank you…for not making me stay.'

For the longest time Cameron just stared at the back of the door. He wanted to go and drag her back, explain. But that would be the worst thing he could do. Instead he flipped his tie over and took a look at the hidden woman inside. That wasn't what he wanted at all!

He was through with fake two-dimensional women. He wanted someone who made him feel alive—someone who made him
feel
, full-stop. Someone like Alice. Someone exactly like Alice.

But he couldn't blame her for not realising he'd changed—
not when he'd only just cottoned onto the fact himself. But he had to try and make her see…

He thought of Alice making her way home alone, tears in her eyes. He thought about the limo parked outside, ready to whisk him anywhere he wanted to go, anywhere he commanded. She'd asked him not to stop her leaving, but he hadn't said he couldn't follow her, had she? He had to give this one last chance.

He had a lot to offer a woman. And he was going to offer it all to Alice.

 

By the time Alice emerged from Cameron's office she discovered the ball was drifting to a close. Music still played, but it came from speakers. The band had been booked to play until midnight and they were now packing up. Only a few dozen people were left in the atrium. Some were still dancing, most were chatting, and every few seconds another small group peeled off and headed for the exit.

She deliberately didn't look up as she scurried across the vast space, past the stage and beyond, into the mayhem of the backstage area. It was all quiet now. Clothing racks stood empty, everything having been packed away by an army of helpers, and the only noise was a scuffling coming from one of the corners.

It was Coreen, sitting on one of the vintage suitcases—battered sky-blue leather with a chrome trim—that she'd brought some of their stock in. She was trying to persuade it to close, with the help of her curves and a little gravity. She looked up and saw Alice.

‘Give us a hand, will you? I can't get the blasted thing shut.'

Alice dropped onto the suitcase next to her, too soul-weary to do it gracefully. It did the job, though, because Coreen
leaned forward and clicked the fasteners into place. She grinned at Alice.

‘Now, as long as it doesn't decide to spring open before I get in the cab, I'm all set.'

Alice sighed. ‘Is that offer of sharing a cab still open?'

One of Coreen's eyebrows twitched upwards. ‘Course it is.'

An even bigger sigh escaped from her lips and Coreen slung an arm round her and squeezed.

‘Hey, come on. We did great! You're just having the slump after the adrenaline high. Get home, have a hot chocolate to pump up your blood sugar, and you'll be fine.'

Post-adrenaline slump. That was what this was, was it? Nothing to do with having just walked away from the man she was in love with? Good. She'd be fine by morning, then.

Only she wouldn't.

Love wasn't the comfortable armchair she'd always imagined it to be. It wasn't safe and warm and fluffy. It was scary and painful and heart-stoppingly exciting. Nothing like the sanitised version she'd inflicted on the men in her life.

Was this what Paul felt when he looked at Felicity? This heart-thumping, brain-frying, all-body tremor-inducing thing? She understood it now. Why he'd left. Why he'd had to follow it wherever it took him if he had a chance of finding someone who could make him feel like this, who felt the same way about him. Good luck to him. And she really meant that.