Ian shook his head. “If she’s going to design the club, then she’s going to have to understand the rules she’s working under. I expect you to take care of that.”
“It’s your club,” Cam growled.
“And your woman. See it’s done before she leaves tomorrow. Then we’ll decide if this job is truly hers or not. I’d rather lose the deposit I paid her than the reputation my wife is building in this community, Cam. You understand the rules and you know the woman. Take care of it. And make damned sure you and Chase know this woman you vouched so strongly for. I’d hate for either of you to be wrong.”
Jaci allowed the hotel room door to close heavily behind her before tossing her evening bag to the couch in the sitting room and reaching back to tear the silver clip from the back of her hair.
As the long, thick strands fell down her back, a surge of anger tore through her. A second later the hair clip was arching through the air to smack into the thick curtains covering the balcony doors.
“Damn him!” The vicious snarl that left her lips surprised her, as did the tears that she was forced to blink back.
He couldn’t even say hello. Couldn’t tear himself from his “business” discussion to even let her know he was there. No, he had sent Chase instead.
Cam couldn’t have meant the threat he had made so long ago. She drew in a hard, controlling breath. It was seven years ago, and when it came to women they wanted sexually, men could say a lot of things. She knew that. And Chase’s warning had been just that. The warning of a man who wanted her sexually, and who wanted answers to his questions, nothing more.
But he had acted as though he believed in her, a little voice inside her head whispered. He had asked her what Richard and Annalee had done to her, not what had she done. No one else had ever asked that.
She shook her head, kicking off the high heels and reaching behind her to release the zipper at the back of her evening gown as she moved into the bedroom.
She pulled the straps over her shoulders and let the silk slither down her body, leaving her clad in nothing but her thong and the thigh-high, black silk stockings.
Laying the dress over a chair, she grabbed her robe and wrapped it around her.
She didn’t need this headache. It was going to be all she could manage to keep her wits about her and keep the congressman and his wife from attacking her openly.
They were terrified of her. Even five years later, they were so frightened of the truth that it rolled off them in sickening waves every time they saw her. It would have been amusing if it didn’t continually destroy parts of her life along with it.
She stared around the hotel suite.
She was alone. She shouldn’t have been. Over the past few years, the ache inside her had grown to such proportions that it was nearly physical. She ached to be touched, to close her eyes as a lover touched her, even if she had to pretend it was Cameron Falladay.
It should have been so easy to accept the invitation in Chase’s eyes tonight. He could have come up here—she could have touched him, been touched, and pretended it was Cam.
She shook her head. She was losing her sanity, evidently. Chase would have never allowed her to get away with it, and she knew it. Just as she had known it before she left town seven years ago.
She pushed her fingers through her hair again, then let her hand trail down her neck, almost shivering at the memory of Cam’s fingers there.
Other men had touched her over the years. Superficially. They had kissed her, held her; but that ache that gnawed at her insides had never gone away. No more than the distrust had.
She was willing to lay her life savings on the fact that she was quite possibly the only twenty-eight-year-old virgin in existence, in the nation.
She stopped at the full-length mirror in the corner of the room and stared at herself. Her nose was straight, eyebrows arched. Her eyes faintly tilted, her lips just a little bit too lush. Her br**sts weren’t small, but they weren’t overly large. They fit her body. She was slender; she stayed in shape. Her shoulder-length auburn hair was a nice contrast to her brown-and-blue-flecked green eyes.
She wasn’t ugly. She didn’t consider herself beautiful, rather average. There was no reason for her to be spending her life alone.
Other than her own fears. And the simple fact that she was still, even now, waiting on Cam.
3
Chase was waiting in the lobby of the hotel when Cam strode through the entrance. The black suit his brother wore did nothing to alleviate the aura of power and danger that surrounded him. The wicked scar that slashed down the left side of his cheek definitely helped the impression, but it was the icy green eyes, the unsmiling lips, the expression that seemed carved from experiences that suggested hell, made him appear even more dangerous, that did it.
Cam was his brother, his twin. And sometimes Chase wondered if he even knew who or what his brother was. He definitely didn’t know what had created the dark visage that strode toward him.
“She’s not going to appreciate a late-night visit,” he told his brother as they headed toward the elevator.
“Too bad,” Cam growled. “Roberts waylaid me at the party. The slick bastard. He should be in film rather than congress. His acting ability beats the shit out of his ability to help run this f**king country.”
Chase winced. Cam was cussing. That was never a good thing.