Magnolia Grove: The Complete Series

FBI Anti-Piracy Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of a copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to five years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

Advertencia Antipirateria del FBI: La reproducción o distribución no autorizada de una obra protegida por derechos de autor es ilegal. La infracción criminal de los derechos de autor, incluyendo la infracción sin lucro monetario, es investigada por el FBI y es castigable con pena de hasta cinco años en prisión federal y una multa de $250,000.

Cover Illustration Copyright © 2014 by conrado, StephanieFrey

Chapter opening illustrations © 2016 by Kamenuka and Indie Pixel Studio

Used under license from BigStockPhoto.com

Editing by Lawrence Editing

Cover design and interior formatting by

Indie Pixel Studio

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever including Internet usage, without written permission of the author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

CONNECT WITH J.B.

THE AUCTION

DEDICATION

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

THE DATE

DEDICATION

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

THE PROMISE

DEDICATION

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

THE SECRET

DEDICATION

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

EPILOGUE

OUT OF THE STORM PREVIEW

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

You are loved just for being who you are, just for existing. You don’t have to do anything to earn it. Your shortcomings, your lack of self-esteem, physical perfection, or social and economic success—none of that matters. No one can take this love away from you, and it will always be here.

-Ram Dass

What good is social class and status? Truthfulness is measured within. Pride in one’s status is like poison—holding it in your hand and eating it, you shall die.

-Sri Guru Granth Sahib

MY EYES LOCK with hers as a cold sensation spreads over my cock. Dammit. They haven’t even had dinner and people are already spilling their shit. My mouth gapes open as I pull my pants away from my body and start to shake them. I look back up, but she’s gone. The group of young women who are responsible for my now ruined slacks have covered their mouths, obviously trying unsuccessfully to contain their giggles. Or maybe they’re not even trying at all. Who actually gives a fuck?

I’m so sorry, the blonde, whose tits are about to fall out of her black, strapless dress, says as she leans over, attempting to wipe the spillage.

Brushing her hand away, I roll my eyes and shake my head. The last thing I need is some random chick feeling me up right now. Whatever. It’s fine. The only thing available is a cocktail napkin, so I grab it and start dabbing my crotch all the while searching the crowd, trying to find her again, but she really is gone, nowhere to be found.

It’s just as well. The thin paper of the napkin is disintegrating on my drenched slacks. I need to clean myself up before I run into her again. There’s no way I can do what I intend if I look like a toddler who just wet his pants. Turning on my heel, I round the corner to the men’s restroom, which much to my surprise has a line longer than the ladies’.

I smirk at all the guys waiting and do an about-face. It’s not like I need to take a piss. I just need something to absorb some of the fuckin’ wine the drunken lady emptied on my trousers. I don’t know why I didn’t think of this before. My plan B is so much better. I bet, if I’m lucky, I might be able to even find another pair of pants instead of just drying these.

Fuck.

The valet has my keys, which I need. Turning back around, I pass by the bathroom and out the side door, which opens right to the tent where the keys are kept.

Yo, Lewis. I’m not here to pick my car up. Just need to use my keys for a minute.

He nods, smiling, the wrinkles around his hazel eyes curving up. What’s your number, son? I love it when he calls me that. He’s one of the few people who doesn’t treat me any differently around here after all the shit that went down years ago.

Reaching in my back pocket, I pull my billfold and snatch the stub. I glance at the number. Thirty-seven, I say before nestling it back into place.

Lewis opens and scans the metal box, then hands me my keys. Bring ‘em back when you’re done. Don’t want someone to think I lost your keys. You know that happens, right?

I chuckle. Lewis has been a part of the valet crew nearly my entire life. We’ve had many talks through the years, but this is new. They lose keys. Comforting. Unable to keep the grin off my face, I reply, I’ll bring ‘em back. I pat his shoulder. Thanks, man.

The noise from the party dissipates with each step I take toward the pool area. My family co-owns a cabana. It’s a stretch to think there would be any clothes stashed away that are adequate for this type of event, but I say a silent prayer that maybe my worthless father kept an extra pair of work clothes in there for the summer. If not, there’d at least be a terry cloth towel. Any kind of towel has to be better than any paper version likely to be found in the bathroom. And I bet there’s even a hair dryer.

This plan is brilliant.

But the thought of my father causes my steps to come to a quick halt. I stare at the sky, the sun and moon both visible, and contemplate just going home. Through the years, I’ve grown to despise anything to do with the country club. Keep your eye on the prize, Holden. Shaking my head, I start to walk again. There’s a reason I agreed to tolerate an evening of excessive drinking, exorbitant spending, and kissing ass with yuppies—even though, by definition, I am one.

Each year, I’ve attended the country club’s annual fundraiser, The Magnolia Grove Spring Fling, which benefits the local hospital’s cancer facility. It’s one of the best in the country. Running my hands through my light brown locks, I flash back to when this shindig was actually fun. Years ago, I’d hung out with my buddies. Our activity usually consisted of making fun of the girls on the dance floor. I’d laughed with them, but not for the same reasons as they had. My eyes had only ever focused on one girl. The others long-forgotten blurs of my memory.

Camellia Spencer, or Cammie as everyone calls her, has lived in Magnolia Grove just as long as I have. Her long, curly, chestnut locks cascaded down her back; her green eyes twinkled from the lights strewn throughout the white, massive tent. She never acted interested in being more than friends. In fact, she paid less and less attention to me the older we got.

Now, she’s engaged to the douchenozzle, Oliver Willoughs. How I’m the only one who can see he’s using her as arm candy beats me. Can I blame him? Hell no. She’s so much more than a beautiful face. She’s beyond smart, graduating the top of our class, and one of the most caring people I’ve ever met. No, she is the most caring person I’ve ever met. Yeah, most of the girls at the country club have been raised to give back and work for charity, but I’ve spent a good portion of my entire life watching her. She doesn’t just show up to do what she has to do. When she’s helping others, that’s when she seems at her happiest.

Hey, Holden, a voice that’s not Cammie’s says.

I’ve wandered pretty far off the beaten path for the fundraiser. I’m unsure why anyone would be in this neck of the woods so to speak, but I recognize the voice. Glancing up, I see some girls with drinks sitting by one of the bunkers of the golf course. I don’t really know them.

But at my side is Charity Winthrop, the voice I recognized belonging to her. She’s walking a little too close by my side. She’s always been sweet and innocent…more of a sister. We attended the same church for years. She’s always flirted with me, and word through the grapevine is she’s always liked me.

How many ways can I send the message I’m not interested in anything more than friendship?

I smile. Politely, not even a little bit flirtatiously. How’s it goin’, Charity? Even though it’s posed as a question, I pick up my pace, hoping she gets the clue I’m in no position to have a chat. I have to get my shit together before the auction starts.

Lucky for me, Charity giggles—as if we’re back in middle school, and she’s excited that her crush just talked to her for the first time. Good.

That’s great. I gotta run and grab something. I’ll see ya up there, okay? I point toward the tent.

Save me a dance?

Shit. I sigh, but try to smile through my frustration. Sure.

She breaks away, I assume rejoining her clique of friends. As I approach the cabana, I fidget for the right key, shaking my head. I shouldn’t even be in this position, dammit.

When I was little, I didn’t have a choice about attending this fundraiser, or church for that matter. The past couple of years I’ve been guilted by my mother to come. But this year, I swore I wouldn’t come. No matter what. Never again. So it meant she got creative at finding a way to get me here without the guilt.

How? My lip quirks up.

The only thing that made it a no-brainer was when I found out the single ladies, which by party rules is defined as not married, are doing auctions for a date.

See, moral of the story: never say never.

The kicker’s that I won’t know which girl I’m bidding on because the only thing the guys will know is the girl’s ideal perfect evening. Just the thought of a night with Cammie causes my cock to grow hard, tingles to course through my entire body.

If only I can get some time alone with her, then I can convince her of how wrong Oliver is for her.

Of just how right Holden Masters is for her.

Cammie’s always been popular. But since we graduated, the only time I’ve seen her happy in the public eye is when she’s working with the needy. Her happiness with Oliver is as fake as Cupid. She’s intelligent, feisty, and beautiful. But the frown on her face, the droopiness in her eyes that washes over her face when she thinks she’s alone and no one’s watching, is something I simply can’t tolerate. My jaw clenches. She deserves so much more.

Inserting the key, I turn the knob, entering the dark, empty cabana. Before I have a chance to flip the light switch or think another thought, an arm reaches out and grabs me. I’m about to firmly remove said arm, maybe practice those martial arts skills I taught myself just as I hear a voice. It’s the most melodic music to my ears, like a symphony of hushed major harmonies. Kiss me. Now. I’ve been waiting for this all night, she whispers, as if we’re hiding from someone.

Ah, fuck yes.

We are.

And what kind of gentleman would I be to not oblige?

Using my free arm, I slam the door closed while she yanks me against her delicate body. It only takes an instant for my dick to come to full attention. In a swift, quick motion, I have her wrist in my hand. The room’s completely dark, the door fitting the frame like a glove, the windows covered by blackout curtains. There are no cracks in the entire room for light to seep through.

Relying only on my senses and memory of the room, I pin her to the side wall and do what I’ve only fantasized about in my wettest of dreams. Opening my mouth, I insert one of her fingers, then suck and savor the salty sweetness of her skin. She moans, and I pull harder as I ram my hips into hers. Releasing her, I unzip my wet pants, then hike her skirt. Reaching down, I’m prepared to yank her panties off and shove them in my pocket as a souvenir to remember this moment forever, but instead my fingers brush against her bare pussy. Fucking yes. Wet, warm, inviting Cammie. I strum her thigh before inserting a finger into her pussy. The instant access has my heart pounding, my cock throbbing, begging for release. Fuck, she’s hot. Hotter than I ever imagined, and I didn’t think that was possible.

I pick her up with the intention of hoisting her right on my dick, but instead push her against the door. She wraps her legs around my waist as my lips slam into hers. This wasn’t exactly how I’d planned our first time together. While I want so badly to take full advantage of this opportunity, to release a lifetime’s dose of want in a quickie, the need for her is feral. I want to treasure our moment. So, I slow it down, savoring and prolonging every lick of her neck and every suck of her tender earlobes. Her ass perfectly fills my palms. She tangles her hands in my hair, controlling my head, demanding deeper and deeper kisses. Fuck, does she even have a gag reflex? My dick twitches thinking about her mouth around it, taking it all in. Our teeth clash, but I don’t care. Fuck, yes. This is what I have been waiting for. My lids close and my eyes roll in the back of my head.

I can’t wait another second to see if we fit together the way I’ve always imagined. As I continue to kiss her, to hold her, to deal with the pain of my cock growing larger and harder with each touch, I push my hips further into her, pinning her to the wall. I release a hand, grabbing my wallet for a condom. What words are adequate for how much this means to me?

Hers, of course.

You said you’d been waiting for this all night, but, baby, I’ve been waiting for this my entire life.

Holden? she hisses quietly, again, as if someone can hear us.

What the fuck?

Why did that sound like a question? She saw the drink debacle. It was obvious I needed a towel. Our families co-own this cabana, so we both have a key. And here she is fucking waiting on me, and without panties to boot. My mouth grows dry. Yeah. My voice is hoarse and laced with unparalleled need.

Fuckin’ A. What the hell were you thinkin’? Her voice rises. I’m engaged, Holden.

I don’t think her pitch can get any higher. It cracks on my name.

I thought you were Oliver. Fuck, put me down. Now.

She thought I was Oliver? How is that even possible?

Doing as she asks, I lower her, making sure she’s steady on her feet before letting her go. Light blinds me as she flips the switch. Drinking in the sight of her bare pussy as she adjusts her skirt, my semi-hard cock begs for release. She fingers through her disheveled hair. A small, crooked smile forms on my lips as I run the play-by-play of what we’ve just done in my head complete with visuals of her just like she is right now.

Even though we didn’t have sex, her rumpled skirt and just-fucked messy hair is gorgeous and breathtaking all at once. While I want more, it almost doesn’t matter if this is most likely going to be a one-time thing because this view will be permanently seared into my memory. I can’t undo seeing her like this, unfeel the sensations of my finger soaked and deep inside her, unhear the sultry sound of her moans, untaste the sweetness of her lips. Inserting my wet finger into my mouth, I suck. Her eyes bulge and she squirms. Yeah, I’ll never be able to untaste her. This is perfect jacking-off material. Much better than any magazine or website. So fuckin’ sweet.

She glares at me, then scowls. You gotta get out of here before he comes.

Pulling my pants up and fastening them, I shove my hands into my pockets. I plant my feet firmly in place and find myself staring into her feisty, green eyes. Shit, will I ever tire of gazing into them? Don’t ya think if he were coming, he’d already be here by now?

Looking away, she crosses her arms over her chest. I imagine if she were naked, she would be covering her breasts in the same way, as if trying to be less exposed to me than she already has been…than she already is. This is my chance to express what I’ve been waiting and needing to say, so I take a step forward. Can’t you see it, Cam? Can’t you see he’s just using you? That you’re the perfect trophy wife? Throwing my hands out, I motion to her body, my eyes stopping right on the part I just saw before she lowered her skirt. You’re so damn beautiful, Cammie, and smart too. Too smart for him.

Too everything for him.

She shakes her head. No. The words are barely audible through her cracked voice. You don’t know anything about us, Holden.

But it isn’t enough to make me stop stalking toward her, filling the small gap. She glances at me sharply, so I take a slight step back while putting my hands up. If he were on fire for you the way I am, Cam, he’d be here. Her moans are echoing in my ears. I want to taste her again, all of her, but I refrain. He wouldn’t be able to wait to escape his prick business friends to get his hands on every inch of you. He’d crave you like I crave you right now. He’d want to have his dick inside you every fucking moment possible.

She shakes her head. Stop. Just stop.

I put my finger up. Shh. Just one more thing.

She closes her eyes, and I wonder if her body is doing fireworks the way mine is at the connection of our skin touching. I pull my finger away before asking this question. In fact, I take a hefty step back. As his fiancée, shouldn’t you have known the man you were about to fuck wasn’t him?

Her eyes well up, and it kills me that the water in them sparkling off the light just makes me want her more. Yet, that I may be the very cause of her tears makes my stomach lurch and my face redden. This isn’t how I planned any of this. This was my chance, and I’ve blown it.

Her chin trembles. I can’t. I can’t do this. I don’t owe you any explanations. She narrows her eyes. You’re an ass, Holden Masters.

Before I can grab her, pull her into my arms, and plead with her to give me a chance—to let me win her date—she turns, opens the door, and runs away.

The words echo in my mind, you’re an ass, Holden Masters.

That’s part of the problem with Cammie. She’s bought the façade I’ve put on for everyone because it’s been easier to hide behind it.

Ass is the last word I’d use to describe myself.

It’s one of many I reserve for Oliver, and I have to find a way to prove it to her before she makes the biggest mistake of her life.

SWIPING THE TEARS tears from my cheeks, I rush through a back door and into the only room that’s probably vacant, the bridal suite.

My heart’s pounding in my chest, and it’s not just from running. The irony isn’t lost on me that in just three short months, I’m supposed to be dressing in this room to marry Oliver.

Closing and locking the door, I fall onto the couch as my shoulders quake, my lungs and throat tighten, and my hands are soaked from the tears that are steadily trickling from my face. How can I go through with a marriage to someone I’ve already betrayed?

It was an accident.

But if I’m honest, I liked the accident.

My chest aches, and I bury my head in a pillow to muffle the cries as my sobs intensify.

Holden’s an ass. He’s a bad-boy heartbreaker. In five minutes he’s already got me crying.

Oliver cares more about his career than me. He would never worship and adore my body the way Holden just did. He never has. And I know it. And when will I stop denying the sparks that Holden ignites in me every time I’m near him?

I further bury my face into the fabric and let out a scream.

Get yourself together, Camellia Olivia. You have commitments, and you can’t break them. Pull it together.

After pushing myself off the couch, I stare into the ornate, wrought iron-framed mirror. My green eyes are puffy, my skin is blotchy, and my cheeks are mascara-stained. I look like a scene from a horror movie.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

I wave my hands in front of my face, then caress my swollen lips, lips that Holden claimed, tugged, and sucked. My body mourned the disconnection from his the moment he placed me back on my feet and released me. Why did he have to wait until I was engaged to do that?

Pacing back and forth, the scene just keeps replaying. The way his tongue was smooth against mine, how his hair slid through my fingers like silk. The way his eyes danced when he sucked his finger that I know had been in me just moments before. My insides quiver.

Dammit.

My hands ball into fists. I should have known by the hair. Did I know? Did I ignore it because I wanted it just as much as he did? Fuck. I just cheated on Oliver, and the lingering question that I keep asking is whether or not I’d change a fucking thing. This is so screwed up.

Pulling a tissue from a box on the bookcase, I dab my face as more tears spill down my cheeks. I’m going to look like a train wreck at the auction. This night has turned to shit. It’s a nightmare. Having planned the cabana fiasco early on, I didn’t bring a purse, which would have had a compact and lip gloss. No, instead, I gave those two things to Oliver to put in his coat pocket, using the excuse of not wanting to be burdened with holding something all night. I roll my eyes. He grumbled something under his breath. I let it go because after I surprised him, he’d understand, right? Wrong.

Now, I have to make my way back to him, hoping he doesn’t notice Holden’s woodsy scent. It’s all I can smell. I can’t tell if it’s on my clothes or just stuck in my nostrils.

That’s another sign I should’ve known it wasn’t Oliver, but I just thought that maybe he decided to wear a new cologne. Pulling a strand of hair to my nose, I inhale. My scalp starts to tingle at the memory of his hand being tangled in my hair.

Stupid, Cammie.

You can’t like his cologne.

And you certainly can’t be tingly at the mere thought of his hands in your hair.

Maybe I could make up some excuse for smelling like a guy, though. What that excuse would be, I have yet to figure out, but I’m quick on my feet. If I can manage that, then perhaps Oliver won’t notice my crazy hair or my imperfect makeup.

I glance at the clock on the mantle over the fireplace. I have five minutes to get my shit together. The auction will be taking place soon, and I’ve yet to tell Oliver what my package is. Club rules smules. While I understand it’s for a good cause, it’s beyond ridiculous that even engaged girls have to participate. Whose idea was that, anyway?

Releasing a few cleansing breaths, I stomp off in an effort to locate my fiancé. But it’s not as hard as I thought because he’s not moved since I left him. My blood starts to boil. Except no one is allowed to see any signs of anger from a woman of my standing. There’s a code of conduct, an expectation of behavior from the wives and fiancées in the country club. It doesn’t matter that it’s 2016, that women are strong and independent. Here, in this setting, we’re defined by our last names and the men who gave them to us.

Plastering a fake smile on my face, I loop my arm in Oliver’s. Oh, there are you are, darling. I kiss his cheek, then glance at the guys huddled by his side. Gentlemen, I’m so sorry to interrupt, would you mind if we have a moment?

They all smile, but Luke, Oliver’s best friend grins. Sure thing, Cammie. He studies me from top to bottom. You look beautiful, by the way.

Thank you so much. You look exceptionally nice tonight too. I smile, glancing at Oliver. Surely, there should be a spark of jealousy in his eyes at this exchange with his best friend. Or maybe a look of admiration. Like, hot damn, that’s my girl. But, instead, he gives hand motions to one of the other guys walking away, mouthing something. Then, he has the fucking audacity to glare at me. Based on previous experience, my guess is it wasn’t the comment to Luke that garnered it as much as it was the inconvenience of me busting up his little pow-wow with his friends slash colleagues.

His mouth parts, but my head is about to explode. And my body yearns to be filled. There’s nothing worse than having incredible foreplay and being left dangling. Granted, that was my decision, but that doesn’t take away from the need going unsatisfied. I hold my hand out expectantly. I just need my compact and lip gloss so I can freshen up before the auction. I glance away, then back at him. I swear it’s as if he’s looking in through to my soul, like he can see what happened in the cabana, as if my eyes are all-knowing crystal balls that bare my indiscretions. I push my hand out further. It starts in five minutes, and I need to tell you my package so you make sure to bid on me. A date with someone else would be awkward at best, don’t ya think? I wait with my palm open, tapping my foot. Even if it is for charity.

Oliver drops his arm, thus releasing the one I’d looped into it. He reaches across his chest into his coat pocket, pulling out my things. His eyes are half on mine and half tracking the business associates he chose to kiss ass with instead of screwing me in the cabana. Maybe he wasn’t looking into my soul after all. Maybe all I saw was my own reflection.

Is Holden right? Has Oliver always been this dismissive? Have I only ever received half his attention? Is it obvious to everyone but me?

Honey, I’m sure I can pick your package out. Instead of his smile being apologetic like I want it to be, it’s almost smug. You’re about to be my wife.

Taking the compact and lip gloss into my hand, I cross my arms across my chest. Even though I know what happened with Holden is between the two of us, damn if it doesn’t feel as if everyone is looking at me, judging me.

When I turn, I realize it’s not everyone. It’s just him. Holden’s crystal blue orbs sparkle against the light like I’ve noticed them to do every year. Even though he’s a jerk, I’ve always found it difficult to look away from them, from him. He’s a special kind of beautiful. The way his dark hair falls across his wide, prominent forehead, how his eyebrows are perfectly arched, and that rigid square jaw line makes me curious as to how it’d feel beneath my tongue.

Seriously?

But Oliver is always clean-shaven, though, so it’s a legit curiosity.

He cocks his head, curves those plush lips into a sly smile, and even the way he’s standing with his ankles and arms crossed oozes sex. Every inch of me quivers. Snap the hell out of it, Cammie.

Oliver’s voice seems like it’s miles away. I mean, if you wanna tell me, go ahead. But I really need to finish up my conversation with these guys before the auction starts.

I shrug my shoulders. He’s right. He should know my package. Suit yourself. I give him a quick peck on the cheek before heading to the ladies’ room.

Although, if I am being perfectly honest, it’s not just to refresh my makeup. Every memory at Magnolia Grove involves Holden or his family in some way, and while I’ve always been attracted to him, I’ve never felt quite so discombobulated by him until tonight. Did he really feel those things he said in the cabana?

Burn for me?

Surely it’s nothing more than suggestive words on his behalf. Guys love the chase, the unattainable. I shake my head, needing both mental and physical space from them both, one who seems to be ripping my heart apart, and the other who very well could do the same, but for very different reasons.

THE LIGHTS OF the ballroom flicker as the emcee, Harry, takes the mic. Ladies and gentlemen, it’s time for dinner. Please take your seats. The women of Magnolia Grove have a fun-filled evening planned for you. Sit back, relax, and enjoy.

Cammie re-enters the tent, and my eyes follow her as she sits. Within moments, she glances over both shoulders. Sweet Cammie. No one knows except for me. Taking that as my cue, I walk up behind her, pull my chair out, and sit. Hey, tigress.

She inhales sharply. Why do you always call me that?

I grin. I don’t know. Seems to fit your, er, wild personality. I’m not ready to tell her the real reasons for the nickname. That’s something I’ve always envisioned being a special moment between us, one in which we’re alone for starters. Ideally, in love. That time is definitely not now.

Rolling her eyes, she glances at Oliver, who is, as usual, completely ignoring her. She turns back to me. Ha. Very funny. She’s not laughing. She’s not even smiling. Did you pay someone off to be able to sit with us?

You think I need to pay someone off to be assigned to your table? I place my hand under the long tablecloth and on her thigh. Her legs tighten as her eyes widen. Well, do you? My fingers lightly wander up her leg, making their way to her exposed pussy. Damn, her skin feels like satin beneath my fingers.

Shaking her head, she swallows. Her eyes are hooded, and her lips slightly part. Her hand captures mine, moving it to my leg instead of hers. Perhaps you should find your original seat, though.

I chuckle. This is my original seat. I grab the place card in front of me and flip it around so she can see it. Says so right here.

She blows out an unsteady breath and shakes her head before smoothing back her hair.

So, let’s cut to the chase. Tell me all about your package. I know all about her package. I mean, the one that’s up for auction.

Cammie raises her chin, then drags in a gulp of air. There’s no way in hell I’m telling you about my package. It’s all I can do to not laugh at how cute she is.

You want my jacket? I smirk, knowing the shiver wasn’t because she was cold. This tent, with the heaters, is quite toasty.

Keep your jacket—her voice softens—and your hands, to yourself.

I don’t need to know about your package. I am pretty sure I have you figured out better than you have me defined.

The server places the first entrée in front of me as I pick up my fork and knife, then cut into the fancy salad. It looks more like a floral bouquet, complete with pansies. I’ve never understood the point of making food look so