Krista Thoren - High-Society Bachelor

Cam got the message. And she had a point. He didn’t know her well. In fact, he was beginning to suspect he didn’t know her at all. The thought made him uneasy.

“You don’t seem like a list maker,” he said.

“I’m not, in private life. But details are crucial in my line of work, because people feel strongly about special occasions. When you commit to planning someone’s party, you’ve got to get it right the first time. You owe your client the best event you can possibly produce.” Deborah didn’t look amused anymore.

Cam stared at her. She looked more intense than he’d ever seen her. And her voice sounded unfamiliar. He heard enthusiasm and something else he couldn’t identify.

“What many people don’t understand,” she continued, “is that details make all the difference in the world. They can transform an ordinary event into a truly spectacular one. And when you have the chance to create something memorable, you have to run with it, because you don’t get second chances in event planning.”

She leaned toward him. “It’s not like selling clothes or coffee mugs, which can be exchanged if the customer isn’t satisfied. Events are totally different. Whatever happens, you’ve got to make them right, because if they go wrong, you can’t just tell clients and their guests to come back the following night.”

Cam stared at her. Passion. That was it. That was what he heard in her voice.

“I guess not,” he murmured. He’d never thought of it that way before. He’d also never imagined Deborah could be this intense about any topic, especially a work-related one. The laid-back, free-spirited attitude she usually projected hadn’t prepared him for this kind of emotion.

Nothing had prepared him for his own reaction to it, either. He found himself wondering what it would be like if all her intensity were focused on him instead of work.

Deborah cleared her throat. “Sorry. I get a little carried away sometimes.” She looked away, which was fine with Cam since it gave him more opportunity to study her.

It was strange the way her intensity had given her face a more mature cast. For a moment there, she’d looked fully adult. Deborah Clark was more interesting than he could have guessed. Cam watched her face as she wrote something on a tablet from her desk. She looked uncomfortable, as if she’d said too much. Which wasn’t true. What she’d said didn’t matter nearly as much as the way she’d said it. Now that was interesting.

“Anything else you’d like to discuss?” she asked.

Plenty. But he knew she was talking about his party. “It looks like I can safely leave it all to you,” he said, and found that he meant it. Her job might be the only thing she took seriously, but he couldn’t doubt her dedication to her work.

“Good,” she said, and waited.

It didn’t take much to figure out she was waiting for him to leave. Cam got up. In the lengthening silence, he searched for something else to say. The plain, bald truth was that he didn’t want to go yet. He wanted to hear her talk some more about her work. He wanted to see that peculiar intensity light up her eyes again. He wanted to hear more passion in her voice.

But he shouldn’t be thinking about any of that. Just because she turned out to be seriously, intensely, interested in her work, there was no reason to forget one undeniable fact.

Deborah Clark was an innocent and therefore off-limits to him. Period. End of story.

So he should head on out of here pronto. He should send Barb to lunch, grab a sandwich and a big mug of coffee for himself and get some of that ungodly mound of paperwork cleared off his desk.

“Who are you having lunch with?” he asked instead.

In the beat of silence that followed, Cam stifled a wince. How had that come out of his mouth? He never blurted out things. And he never asked nosy questions. That was Deborah’s province. She was the one who grilled people about their love lives, nailing them to the wall and demanding to know if they’d been ditched. Were her habits rubbing off on him?

Perish the thought.

He wasn’t worried about making her uncomfortable. After all, she’d gotten some definite mileage the other day out of his own embarrassment. And at least he wasn’t pronouncing her commitment-phobic into the bargain. In fact, compared to her grilling, his small question was downright genteel.

No, he didn’t mind embarrassing her a little. Girl or woman, Deborah could take care of herself. But he minded very much knowing that he’d lost control enough to ask a question he’d already decided he wasn’t going to ask. He also minded her knowing about his curiosity.

Deborah was looking at him in almost comical surprise, as if she was just as floored as he was by his question.

“A client,” she said after a moment.

“A client?” His head felt a little strange. Must be the last of the indiscretion-related shock waves reverberating in his brain.

“Well, maybe a client,” Deborah amended. “He’s the owner of a local clothing chain, and he’s looking for someone to plan shareholders’ meetings.” She said it casually, but her eyes glowed with suppressed excitement. Twin dots of pink stained her cheeks. She looked cute again, which was a relief.

“This could be a big deal for your company, then,” Cam noted, ignoring the small voice inside him that said she hadn’t looked cute a few minutes ago. She’d looked vibrant and beautiful.

Passionate.

“It could, yes,” she agreed.

“Congratulations.”

Deborah shook her head. “I haven’t gotten the contract yet.” But she was smiling, and Cam had the feeling she expected to get it. And why shouldn’t she? As far as he could tell, she did good work. She probably had a perfectly good business head on her shoulders.

Cam watched her cross to the sofa and pick up her coat and purse. That was when he noticed that Libby was still stretched out in the same position she’d been in when he arrived.

“Your cat’s not exactly energetic, is she?” he observed.

Deborah surveyed her pet with a small, indulgent smile. “No.”

“Isn’t it time for her morning walk?” It was eleven o’clock, just about the time the cat had shown up in his office. That day seemed a lot longer ago than only five weeks.

She looked puzzled. “What morning walk?”

“I thought she went out every morning,” Cam said.

Deborah shook her head. “No. Libby doesn’t venture out much. In fact, the day you found her, she’d escaped while I was in the shower, and I had no idea she’d gotten out.”

That explained a lot. It explained not only Deborah’s surprise when he’d handed over the cat, but also the little details he’d noticed at the time, like her damp, tousled hair and her glowing skin.

Little details he’d tried to forget.

“Cats aren’t like dogs,” Deborah pointed out. “You don’t walk them every morning.” Once more she looked amused.

“I don’t know much about cats,” Cam said. “We always had dogs when I was growing up.”

“But you don’t now.” She still looked disappointed about his dogless state, and even knowing her disappointment was only that she was stuck hostessing his party instead of walking his dog, Cam found himself taking it personally.

“That’s right. Now I have fish,” he told her with a firm cheerfulness.

Her brows shot up. “Fish?”

Cam frowned.

“Sorry,” Deborah muttered. “You just don’t look like a fish person.”

He stared at her.

“I’m sure you’re wondering what a fish person looks like,” she continued. “And I’d have to say I have no idea, but I pictured you with a very large dog.”

“My fish are the tropical kind,” he told her. “I like to watch them, especially when I’m trying to figure out a business problem. They’re soothing.” He grinned. “You still look doubtful. Don’t you like fish?”

She shrugged. “They’re not furry, which is a major pet criterion for me. Also, you can’t train them.”

“You can’t train cats, either,” Cam felt obliged to point out.

“Of course you can.” As she provided him with examples it became clear that he’d hit on a powerful topic. She looked as if she’d completely forgotten about her business lunch. “You just have to make a few allowances for personality quirks,” she finished.

“Hmm. I know what you mean,” he said after a moment. “One of my fish is like that. Very quirky.”

“Really?” She looked even more doubtful than before, and a little suspicious, too, as if she thought he might be putting her on.

Cam nodded. “Herbie. What a grump.”

She blinked. “Did you name all your fish?” Her tone sounded carefully neutral.

“No. He’s the only one who has much personality, to tell you the truth. He’s almost the smallest one in the tank, but he’s aggressive. He chases everyone else around.” Cam watched her grin. Cute was a safer look for her than the passionate expression she’d worn a few minutes ago. A few thoughts about her cuteness were not going to get either of them in trouble.

“Shouldn’t you be going to your lunch?” he asked.

Deborah shot a look at her watch. “Yes, I should. I’ve got just enough time to get there. Anyway, I guess I’ll meet your fish before too long,” she added, “because I’ll need to see your house—the kitchen, the party site, et cetera—as soon as possible so I can plan the setup.”

“Fine.” For some reason he was actually looking forward to showing her around. “How about ten on Saturday morning?”

“I’ll be there.”

Cam smiled in satisfaction.

DEBORAH PULLED UP outside Cameron’s house and gazed at it for a while. Her surprise that he lived outside of the city instead of in a posh neighborhood was nothing compared to the shock his house gave her.

It was large but not ostentatiously so. She’d imagined a huge modern monstrosity with pillars, intricate landscaping and a pool, but it wasn’t like that. In fact, Cameron’s house wasn’t at all what she’d expected from a man as wealthy as he was, a man who made such a big splash in Indianapolis society.

It was a normal house. Understated, even. The two-story structure had wood on top and limestone on the bottom. Painted a green that matched the trees and bushes surrounding it, the house looked natural, as if it belonged there in the woods.

As Deborah got out of the car, she caught a movement from behind the big picture window, and then the front door opened and Cameron came down the walk. He looked relaxed in tan corduroys and a cream polo shirt.

As always, up close he was even bigger than she remembered, one of few men whose height forced her to tilt her head up. At five ten, Deborah wasn’t used to feeling small and vulnerable. She didn’t like it, either.

Maybe she should wear business suits all the time around this man. Having armor had certainly helped on Wednesday. Even though the intensity of his gaze had made her as uncomfortable as it always did, the knowledge that she looked pulled together had steadied her. For the first time since she’d met Cameron Lyle, her tongue hadn’t run away with her. Well, except for her little lecture on event planning, but she could never control herself on that topic, no matter who she was talking to, so that didn’t count.

“Nice place,” Deborah told him. Her voice sounded too hearty, but at least she wasn’t babbling. She’d been to lots of clients’ houses, but this was the first time she’d planned an event for someone she was attracted to. Add that fact to the unfortunate truth that she had never in her life been this attracted to any man, and you had a recipe for possible disaster.