This isn’t about the sex or the money.
I slowly walk closer and stand before him as the room falls silent again.
“Are you a betting man, sir?” I ask him.
He raises a brow. “I am.”
I pick up his tie and gently run it between my fingers. “I would like to bet you fifty dollars that I can get you to do whatever I want tonight.”
He smirks. “I think we both know that that’s a bet you have already won.”
I smile softly as emotion overcomes me. “I pick you,” I whisper
“I pick you, too.” He carefully lifts my hand and kisses the back of it. Our eyes are locked on each other and I can hardly breathe. Suddenly, we remember where we are and he takes my hand in his before he leads me out of the room, while the other men move their attention to the next girl. We stand and wait in silence for the elevator to arrive to take us to our room. The electricity running between us is like nothing I have ever experienced before. I look up at him and he smiles softly down on me.
“You look beautiful,” he whispers as his eyes drop to my lips.
“So do you,” I breathe.
The elevator doors open and he leads me in. I turn to face the door and he stands behind me. The door slowly shuts and he pushes my hair to one side as his lips drop to my neck. My eyes close instantly. The feel of his lips gently kissing my skin is so damn good.
He kisses my neck, softly at first, again and again and then, as if losing control, he bites me hard and I whimper. He grabs my hipbone and pulls me back so I can feel how hard he is behind me.
“You have no idea how badly I want you,” he whispers in my ear causing goosebumps to erupt, and whether it’s his breath on my skin or the sound of his words that nearly make me convulse, I will never know.
He sucks my skin as my knees nearly buckle from underneath me. “Cameron,” I whimper.
I’ve never had this-had a man that is so in tune with my body before. It’s as if he knows exactly what to do, exactly where to touch me, and exactly what to say.
The door of the elevator opens and he snaps out of his daydream, takes my hand, and retrieves the key to the room from his pocket.
I frown as a sense of sadness swipes through me that he knows the drill here.
How many times has he done this before? Has he slept with any women that were downstairs with me?
“What’s wrong?” he asks, sensing my disapproval.
Get a grip of yourself. He doesn’t need to explain his past. God knows you haven’t even scratched the surface of yours, I remind myself.
I fake a smile. “Nothing.”
He watches me for a moment. “Just say it.”
I shrug, embarrassed.
“What?”
“How many times have you been here before, Cameron?”
He shrugs and rolls his lips as he contemplates his answer.
“It doesn’t matter,” I whisper. “Sorry for asking. I know it doesn’t matter.”
“Does it matter to you?”
I drop my eyes to the carpet in front of me. “It shouldn’t.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
He’s got me. I nod softly.
He cups my face with his hand and lifts it so that our eyes meet. “I only wanted to meet you here because I knew you needed the money.”
I frown.
“This is the last place on Earth I want to see you.”
A lump forms in my throat.
“You belong in my home.” He pauses and kisses me gently. “In my bed.”
Of all the things he could have said, that’s what I needed to hear the most.
“I don’t want you to judge me because I work here,” I murmur.
“I won’t.”
“I’m not here for the money tonight,” I whisper as he kisses me softly. “I’m here for you.”
He stills for a moment and looks up the hall toward our room, and then back down on me. “I don’t want you staying here.”
I frown.
“Come home with me.”
“What? I can’t. I’ll get into trouble.” I frown.
“Nobody will know. There’s a separate exit.”
“Cam…”
“If we stay here…” He frowns as he thinks. “This is always where our first date will be.”
I smile softly. Why does he insist on getting better and better? I put both of my arms around his neck and lean in to kiss him gently. “I like how you think,” I whisper through a smile.
He smirks against my lips and drops his hand to my ass. “I like you more. Now let’s get out of here.”
Cameron sits behind the wheel of his luxury car and pulls into the wide circular driveway of his mansion. I sit quietly in the passenger seat and I think I may have just done the stupidest thing in my life so far. I’ve let him make me hope for something more.
The club was safe. The club was just fucking.
This feels raw, intimate, and very much like he’ll soon have the ability to hurt me.
Run. Now.
He appeared to be deep in thought all the way to his home.
Cameron parks the car and we sit in the darkness for a moment, as if lost in our own thoughts while my heart hammers in my chest.
Eventually, he climbs out and opens my door to help me out. He takes my hand in his as we walk in silence to his front door.
“Is that you, Mr. Stanton?” a male voice calls from around the side of the house. I can hear the gravel crunching under his feet as he approaches us.
“Yes, Steve,” he replies.
A man appears from around the side of the house with a flashlight in his hand, and his eyes flicker between us. Upon realizing it is, in fact, Cameron, he smiles and disappears back to where he came from.
“Who’s that?’
“My security guard.”
“Why do you have a security guard?” I whisper.
“Joshua’s insistence.”
“Who’s Joshua?”
“My brother.”
“Oh.” That’s weird. “Is this a bad neighborhood?” I ask.
He lets out a deep, permeating, perfect chuckle, and I find myself smiling broadly.
“Does it look like a bad neighborhood?”
I glance around at the opulence and wealth around me. “Sort of.” I smirk. “Rich people are creepy sometimes.”
He laughs again as he opens the door, and we are quickly transported into his luxurious world. The foyer is dimly lit and he takes my hand to lead me toward the kitchen, turning the lights on as we walk past them.
“Would you like a glass of wine or champagne?” he asks.
“Whatever, I’m easy,” I answer as I look around. I can’t believe this is his house.
He walks me out to a room that has a large bar, and he glances through the glass door of the drink fridge. He frowns. “I wasn’t expecting company and haven’t got any good stuff chilled. Hang on a sec, I’ll go get some.”
He takes off toward the kitchen and I follow him without thinking. Where is he going? He opens a door and disappears down a set of stairs. What the hell? A wine cellar? He has a fucking wine cellar? I frown as I follow him, and my eyes widen as I approach the bottom of the stairs.
It’s a huge room lined with shelves creating aisles, and the walls and floors are sandstone. The air is crisp and cold down here. Wow. This is something else.
He walks along the aisle looking for the wine he wants. “Champagne or wine?”
I shake my head and his eyes rise to meet mine. “What?” he asks.
“You have a wine cellar…” I frown, this is just ridiculous.
“Yes.” He smirks. “I have a wine cellar.”
I shake my head and blow out a breath.
“What?” He frowns.
“Where did you get all this money, Cameron?”
“Champagne?” he asks, distracted.
I nod.
He takes two bottles of champagne from a rack and comes back to me. “Well, that’s a hard question to answer.”
“Why?”
He shrugs. “I had a trust fund from my father, and then my brother became an app developer and hit it big,” he replies nonchalantly.
I frown. “Who is your brother again?”
“Joshua Stanton.”
I nod. That name sounds familiar somehow. “So, this is their money?” I ask.
“Yes and no.”
I raise my eyebrows. “No?”
“I have an extensive property portfolio from my own investments, so what started out as their money is now money I make for myself. I could probably pay them back now.”
“And this house…?” I ask.
“… was a thirtieth birthday present from my brother.”
I roll my eyes, unimpressed. A birthday present? Are you fucking kidding me? I glance around again. This house must be worth an absolute bomb.
“What’s with the eye roll?” he asks
“Money doesn’t do it for me, Cameron.”
“Money doesn’t do it for me, either. Why do you think I’m a doctor? Just so I can have the title before my name?” He pauses for a moment. “But, I’m accustomed to a certain lifestyle now and I’m not going to apologize for that.” He smiles sexily. “And besides, having no money limits your choices.”
I smirk. That’s true. “Don’t I know it…”
He takes my hand and leads me back up the stairs, and we sit at the kitchen counter. He takes out two crystal champagne flutes and pops the cork of the bottle before he fills our glasses.
He hands me one then holds his glass in the air. I smile and clink it against mine.
“No toast?” I ask.
His eyes hold mine. “I have no toast. Do you have a toast?” he asks.
“Perdre des paris.”
Translation. To losing bets.”