Gatlinburg Getaway (Destination: Desire) (20 page)

“I’ll think about what you said. Maybe I’m not a hopeless case,” Hazel replied promptly. “Now, let’s talk about you.”

Great. Camille had walked right in to that one, hadn’t she? She groaned. “We live on opposite sides of the country.”

“Lots of people start with long-distance relationships,” Hazel reasoned. “That’s how Internet dating works.”

“True, but I own a business. He’s part of his family’s business. His family and friends are here. My family and friends are in California. I don’t want to move.” But from their conversations about his current office situation, she wasn’t as sure that he wouldn’t be willing to move. Someday.

The problem was, how on earth did you get a relationship to the point where you wanted to move across the country to be together, when you rarely even got to see each other? That was what a telecommuting romance meant. She’d never tried it, and was doubtful about how successful it could actually be.

“Okay, so there are a lot of reasons why this might not work. There are always lots of reasons any new relationship might not work, so that’s a non-argument.” Hazel put on her rational-scholar voice, where nothing stood in the way of her logic. “Do you want this to be an affair, or do you want more? Are you okay with leaving him behind tomorrow? Because I know you, and you’re not the type to get emotionally attached easily.”

“I’m emotionally attached.” More than that, but Camille couldn’t force the L-word out.

It was going to hurt to end this, when she’d been sure a week wasn’t long enough to get in too deep. She’d never been so wrong about anything. She didn’t know exactly which moment she’d tipped over into love—maybe when he’d picked out the perfect pair of glasses—but there was no mistaking this gut-wrenching, heart-fluttering roller coaster her emotions seemed to be on. Nothing had ever felt so right and been so wrong at the same time.

“Then you should do something about it. Not many guys have ever made you want to keep them around. Consider if it’s wise to throw one of them away over the fact that you live in different zip codes.”

“So, what do I say? ‘Hey, let’s go steady from two thousand miles away’?” She made a derisive noise, though moisture burned the backs of her eyes. “It sounds crazy.”

“Seriously, long-distance is no big deal in this century, Cami. Try it,” Hazel urged. Then she sighed. “Okay, I have to run. I have a meeting with my adviser in a few minutes, and I should wear something other than yoga pants and a stained T-shirt. And it sounded like you need to meet Dr. Right in the lobby.”

About three minutes ago, in fact. “Yeah, I do.”

“Don’t give up on a guy who can hook you emotionally in a week. That’s some powerful juju. Bye!” She hung up before Camille could say anything else to refute her, so all she could do was stick her tongue out at the phone.

After throwing her cell into her bag, she hooked the strap over her shoulder and headed downstairs. The moment she saw Dalton, her heart skipped a beat and her stomach did a backflip. Somehow, admitting she was in love with him, even if it was only to herself, made her feel suddenly awkward and tongue-tied.

Fortunately, she didn’t need to say anything. He gave a low whistle when he saw her outfit, and the way his eyes lit up made the extra effort worth it. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her with a kind of gentle longing that made tears gather in her eyes again. She broke away and blinked back the tears. Otherwise she was going to embarrass them both by sobbing during a kiss. Just what every guy wanted.

She flashed the brightest smile she could muster. “Ready for a rock concert?”

“Ready for anything, sugar.” He slipped an arm around her waist and they turned toward the music pouring out of the nearby ballroom.

They ran into several of her colleagues on the way, who demanded introductions to Dalton, critiqued the keynote speaker’s talk, and swept them along into the crush of people attending the concert.

As the band belted out the opening for Aerosmith’s “Love in an Elevator,” she stood on tiptoe to shout in his ear, “Every single one of these band members is on the conference organizing committee.”

He shouted back, “I’ve never heard of a conference that has its own rock band.”

When he pulled her closer to hear her, she let herself lean against him. The moments she could be this near to him were dwindling. “This might be the only one. Maybe they’ll start a trend.”

“They’re pretty good.” His lips brushed the little hairs at her temple, and a shiver went through her. Ah, that was nice. She did love the attraction that was always shimmering between them.

She shrugged, letting her head fall back against his shoulder. “I guess even workaholic engineers have to have hobbies.”

After dropping a quick kiss on her mouth, he said, “Thanks for inviting me.”

“Of course.” She waved a hand to the crowd of her peers. “You showed me a little bit of your world this week, so here’s a little bit of mine. Sort of.”

As the concert blared from song to song and they stayed spooned together, a part of her was grateful that this was the closing event for the conference. It made it hard to talk, and maybe the loud music would drown out the sound of her heart breaking into tinier and tinier pieces with every second that brought her closer to getting on a plane to leave him.

She wasn’t even sure she should say anything about how she felt. Who fell in love in a week? It was just irrational. It was the kind of thing her flaky, spastic mother would do. And how bad would it suck if he didn’t feel the same? Or, worse, pitied her for having taken The Fall alone? He’d be kind about it—he was a nice man—but a gentle rejection was still a rejection. Even if he was interested in continuing this thing that had developed between them, that meant agreeing to a cross-country liaison. What sane person wanted that?

I do,
a little voice whispered in her head, and she pushed that reminder aside.

“Camille! Dalton!”

She turned to look in the direction of the call. Maria approached, with Tarun one step behind. Introductions were made at a near-bellow.

“Have you had any of the food?” she shouted.

Camille shook her head and the other woman made motions as if they should walk toward the smaller room where hors-d’oeuvres and drinks were being served. The group headed in that direction.

“I like my music loud, but it’s no good for conversation.” Maria grabbed a flute of champagne from the row of glasses the waiters had pre-poured and left waiting on a table.

Dalton picked up two flutes and handed one to Camille. She nodded her thanks and took a long swig. Then they each took a small plate and went down the line of buffet tables to select from the assorted finger foods.

Tarun popped a stuffed mushroom into his mouth and spoke around the food. “We have something to tell you.”

That perked Camille’s interest up, dragging her out of the morose thoughts that plagued her about her imminent departure. “Oh? There’s a
we
to have news about?”

He grinned, glanced at Maria, and his normally stoic face softened. “Yes. There is.”

Dalton glanced between the two, then addressed Maria. “Was this part of the plan?”

“No.” She shook her head and heaved a sigh. “My revenge sex plot backfired a bit. I got the revenge and the sex, but not the part where I flew away to Europe and left him realizing what an idiot he was to have ever dumped me.”

“I’d already realized that part.” Tarun made a face. “I should never have done it in the first place. My logic said an intercontinental relationship wouldn’t work; my heart said I was an idiot.”

She nodded emphatically. “You were an idiot.”

“I know.” He bent to kiss her cheek. “I’m sorry. As I’ve said a thousand times this week.”

“You make it very difficult to stay angry when you admit you’re wrong and grovel.” Disgust flavored her voice and she hunched a shoulder.

Well, at least Maria hadn’t gotten her heart broken again, as Camille had feared would happen. That was a huge relief. She smiled at them. “So you’re giving the intercontinental relationship a try?”

“No, though it will be long-distance,” Tarun replied. “I just took a job at a tech firm in Germany. So, we’ll both be in Europe starting next month.”

“I really hope it works out this time,” Camille said before she bit into a miniature pecan tart.

Dalton toasted the other couple with his champagne. “Good luck to you both.”

“Thanks.” Tarun nodded. “We’ll need it, but…we’ll make it work somehow. It has to be easier than being apart.”

Some emotion spasmed across Dalton’s face—pain, longing, envy, maybe a mix of all of them—but was gone too fast for Camille to be sure. What did that mean? Something? Nothing? But he smiled at the pair, any unpleasant feelings buried.

“You guys were always good together.” She met her friend’s gaze. “And if he does anything that stupid again, just let me know when you’ll need an alibi.”

“Thank you. I will.” Maria dimpled, but gave Tarun a pointed glance. “He still has a lot of work to do to convince me this will work and he won’t run at the first sign of difficulty, but I decided to give him the opportunity.”

“I’ll make it up to you,” he promised, and the love in his gaze was almost painful to look at.

They finished up their food and drinks and headed back in to watch the band, which was currently belting out a rendition of “Hey Jude.” Camille’s little group lined up on one side of the crowd, most of whom were singing along off-key. Yep, there was definitely alcohol flowing at this party. It should have been fun, but now that the surprise of Maria and Tarun’s announcement had worn off, Camille was back to thinking about how Dalton and she wouldn’t be following in their footsteps.

To be fair, Maria and Tarun had dated for several years, even lived together, so it wasn’t the same situation. Theirs was a reunion, not a new romance. Still, it was difficult not to make comparisons and wish things were different for Dalton and her.

After five more songs, Dalton’s lips brushed Camille’s ear. “Want to go upstairs?”

“Yes.” She nodded. God, yes. Anything to distract herself, if only for a moment, from what she would have to walk away from in the morning.

Nothing and no one had ever distracted her as effectively as Dalton.

She was leaving. This was it. She was leaving.

The refrain repeated on a loop in Dalton’s mind, giving him no peace. He rode up the elevator next to her, her hand clasped in his, as if neither of them could bear not touching each other for even a moment. They reached her floor and walked down the hall in silence. She opened her door, and he flipped on the light switch. She tossed her bag onto the desk, and it sent a harsh pang through him when he realized she’d already packed that ridiculously small suitcase. Even her laptop was stowed away. It looked like the barren hotel room that it was, without any of the small touches that had made it Camille’s, if only for a short while.

It felt as if a giant fist had a grip on his chest, squeezing the breath out of him. He sat hard on the bed. Less than twenty-four hours from now, he’d never see her again. The thought was unbearable. He’d always been a practical, sensible man. Hell, he’d bought a woman glasses as a gift instead of a bouquet or jewelry or some equally useless bauble. Sure, she’d loved the present, but it was hardly a sweeping gesture of romance.

So why was a practical, sensible man wanting to propose something utterly insane? Like, take his uncle’s advice, tell her to hell with deadlines, and ask her to date him for real?

He looked up as she approached, taking in every centimeter of her precious face. Her hair seemed to glow like a halo of fire in the lamplight. God, he didn’t want to lose her. “Camille…”

“I need you tonight.” She threaded her fingers through his hair and pulled his face up for a kiss.

I need you every night,
he thought. His hands bracketed her hips, memorizing the roundness of her curves. He spread his knees and pulled her between them, so she was pressed against his front. He wanted to be able to recall every inch of her body, since memories could soon be all he had left.

Her tongue swept into his mouth, the sweet flavor of her hitting his taste buds. His heart rate kicked up as lust poured through his veins. He ran his hands down her thighs, the silky feel of her dress slick under his palms. When he reached the warm satin of her legs, he slid his fingertips back up again, under the hem of her dress. Her breath caught and she arched into him. He stroked upward, teasing her sex through the lace of her panties until they dampened with her wetness. She moaned against his lips, her hips undulating against his hand. He broke away to look at her, flushed with desire, her eyes closed.

After hooking his thumbs into her panties, he drew them downward until they pooled around her ankles. “Step out of them.”

Little shivers ran through her as she pulled her feet free and kicked her underwear aside. He unfastened her sandals, and they went the way of her panties.

“Dalton,” she whispered, her voice low and throaty. “Kiss me.”

He shook his head, denying her. “I want to see your face when I make you come.”

A whimper escaped her, but she didn’t protest. He toyed with her curls—which were already slick with her lust—and eased his fingers into her slit. She widened her stance, giving him more room. He thumbed her clit and she jerked, clutching at his shoulders, digging in with her nails.