Beneath Beautiful (19 page)

Then there was the other part—the part of her that simply didn't care if this were right or not. She wasn't seeing Cameron. There was no exclusive relationship there. If she'd seen him in the paper tomorrow photographed beside a woman, she wouldn't have flinched.
Much.

She tried to forget about all of this and concentrate on her fingers tangled in the curls at James's neck, her mouth warm against his, tasting of wine and oranges and cinnamon. Behind them, the party continued as if in a dream. Voices and music behind a layer of gauze.

She kissed him deeply, losing herself in the moment, her fingers gripping tighter into his hair, his body warm on the cold rooftop. Wanting more—needing more—she found his hand, resting on her hip, and daringly took it and moved it upwards, inside her unbuttoned coat. She felt him pause just above her waist, his touch lingering, resting half on, half off the top of her jeans. She knew then that he was not one of those guys who simply took what they wanted—what they could get—until they heard a loud enough “no”. She had been out with a number of those. She knew then that she would have to guide him. And so, she did.

She took James's hand and moved it up under her shirt to just below her breast. He paused again there and she almost laughed—it was if he couldn't quite believe his luck—and she liked him all the more for it. Hoping he hadn't caught her hint of a smile, she dove into their kiss again, this time shifting his hand higher until he cupped her breast. He groaned in the back of his throat, and Cassie felt him, then, hard against her leg. In that moment, she thought of her reflection in the mirror of the bathroom in Paris. Maybe she had been wrong. Maybe she was more like Cameron and his entourage than she had ever thought possible? She could almost hear Cameron's voice in her head. “So what if anyone sees you?” he'd say. “Maybe you'll get lucky and they'll join in?”

Thinking about Cameron, however, pulled her away from James's touch, and Cassie forced the thought of the artist away. It was James she was with, and she wanted this moment to be about him. About them. She pulled back slightly for a moment to look at her partner, staring at James for a moment, his eyes somewhat unfocussed.

How far did she dare go?

She wasn't sure, but her body was telling her further, the fact that she never did things like this exciting her even more. Almost as much as James's fingers, in fact, which had now slid under the cup of her bra and were brushing one nipple. If she'd been worried about over-thinking things, this changed everything. No longer could Cassie think. She could only do.

Now, she slid her opposite hand down his lean stomach, stopping at his belt. There, she paused and found her way underneath his shirt. Just as she began to slide her flattened palm down his jeans, James drew away, moving both of his hands to her waist, this time focusing in on her properly.

“Oh, no,” he said, a slight twist of a smile on his face. “You're obviously the one with needs here.”

And just like that, he removed her hand and slipped it, instead, around his back. He lost no time in switching places, his own hand mirroring hers, unbuttoning the top of her jeans and quickly and easily slipping further and further down inside them.

“James,” she whispered into his neck. “I really don't think that's such a . . .”

But James didn't listen. His fingers slid down until they slipped inside her with ease. Cassie tried to protest further, but found she couldn't, instead breathing hot and silent on his neck as he concentrated on pleasing her and only her. She was embarrassed at how little effort it took him to make her gasp and contract around him. As she did, she grabbed his back, bringing him in to her until her pleasure subsided, which was when the blush moved from her chest up to her cheeks.

Frozen in their embrace, Cassie finally spoke. “Oh, my God. I can't believe I just did that.”

“You're taking the credit?” James slipped from her tight grasp, freeing Cassie's arms.

“No. No, I mean, I . . .” She covered her face with her hands, which James promptly removed so that he could see her.

“Why the embarrassment?” he asked her. “It was my pleasure.”

He moved in again, kissing first her neck, then her jaw, then her lips, and it was all she could do to keep upright and not slide down the wall. When he finally pulled back for breath again, he smiled that devilish smile of his again. “You get the next one,” he joked, as if to lighten the mood.

Cassie opened her mouth once more, but couldn't reply. She couldn't help but laugh. “You get the next one?” It was as if she'd just casually picked up the bill when they'd been out for coffee.

In the silence that followed, both sets of ears tuned back in to the party beyond. Which was when they heard the voice.

“Have you seen Cassie?” The question filtered into their consciousness from far away.

Alys.

Startled, the pair pulled away from each other, aware they were about to be found out.

James's eyes met hers. “I'll go first.” He nodded back toward the party and Cassie, wide-eyed, agreed with him, nodding herself.

Then just like that he was gone, and Cassie was left to turn around and rest her forehead against the cold brick will. She attempted to collect herself, and as she did so, heard Alys's voice, closer again. “James! Have you seen Cassie?”

James said something in return, which she didn't quite catch.

She needed to get back out to the party.

A few minor wardrobe adjustments, a few more deep breaths, and she almost felt ready. Her hands deep in her coat pockets, she turned around the corner . . . and instantly met the flicker of Alys's gaze from across the rooftop. Even though she was speaking to someone else, her eyebrows managed to raise in the kind of imperceptible way that only good friends notice and can read. Alys's eyebrows clearly read, “What the hell are you doing?” Even worse, Cassie agreed with what her eyebrows were saying.

It took only a minute or two before Alys was able to extricate herself from her conversation, and herd Cassie sideways over to a brazier with no one around it.

“What is going on with you?” she said to Cassie. “Don't think I didn't see you drag James away, because I did. I'm not sure whether to applaud you or tell you off.”

“I don't know what's going on with me.” Cassie brought her hands up to her cheeks again. They were still burning.

“Look, I don't have any problems with you and James . . .” Alys started, but was then lost for words, her hands flailing. “. . . after all, I tried to set you up. I'd love it if you got together. But I've got to tell you this—if you have something going on with someone else, don't mess him around. He's a good guy.”

“I know he is. And I . . . don't. Not really,” Cassie groaned, sitting down in a chair. “I think. Where is he?” She scanned the rooftop for James once more.

“He's gone home.” Alys sat down beside her. “Though he didn't exactly look unhappy. What on earth happened back there?” She inclined her head toward the back of the rooftop.”

“You don't want to know.”

“Jesus. Are you serious?”

“I didn't say anything!” Cassie protested.

“What
is
going on with you?” Alys gave her an odd look.

Cassie exhaled. “Like I said, I really, really don't know.”

T
he party started to wind up not long after James had left, the temperature on the rooftop dropping rapidly despite the warmth of the braziers. After helping Alys clean up, Cassie found a quiet moment to sit down and groan a different groan from earlier this evening. Alys was right to call her on her actions—she was acting more than a little strangely. Coming home crying in a ball gown, throwing herself on men at parties . . . Not that there was anything particularly shocking about either of those things, but they weren't really
her
. Or were they? She had no idea anymore. Now, Cassie pulled her phone out of her pocket. Despite it being late, she sent her text anyway. It wasn't to James, however, but to Marianne.

Sorry it's so late. Need huge favour. Cameron been putting off an interview with a journalist
—
James. Really need him to do the interview ASAP. Possible?

As she pressed “send”, a wry smile crossed her face.
I'll get the next one
, she thought, with a shake of her head. After sending the text on its way, she sat and toyed with her phone for a while in the hope of receiving an answer. Not that she expected it, at this late hour, but she knew Marianne worked around the clock. It was the kind of thing you did when you were employed by someone like Cameron Callahan. When a reply made her phone buzz almost immediately, she jumped.

Not a problem. Though might need a favour myself. You. Plum. Drinks. She is not someone who takes no for an answer.

Cassie frowned as she read Marianne's message. What was it with Plum? Why was she so interested in “catching up” with her? Was it because of Jo? Was she still angry about what had happened between them? Jo had said, after all, that they had had some pretty out-there arguments. It was all very . . . odd. But then, so was Plum, she thought with a shrug as she texted back.

Will do. Thanks.

This sorted, Cassie slunk off to bed, telling herself tomorrow was another day.

M
onday was spent once again sitting in the room of baby pink and daisies, being prodded and poked and taken photos of. Photo after photo after photo. She'd endeavored to give herself a pep talk on the way over, telling herself she was in control, that she could do as she pleased, and that everything would be fine. Her stomach, unfortunately, didn't believe a word of it, clenching around the bagel that Alys had pushed upon her before leaving the apartment.

On entering the upstairs room at Cameron's studio, she'd tried to gauge Cameron's reaction as to what had passed between them the other night, but today he seemed distracted and restless, adjusting folds of her clothing and circling her again and again. This only added to Cassie's concern. It was then that she truly began to doubt herself. Had she done the wrong thing, holding back from Cameron? Should she have let go right from that very first moment? Given in to her desires and slept with him? She knew she'd wanted to. And that she could have. She could have taken him home from the cemetery. Or from the café when he had appeared in her life once more. There had been nothing to stop them in Polperro. Or here, at his studio. She knew his apartment was right upstairs.

So why hadn't she? Why didn't she?

As Cassie sat, she thought about Jo and what she had told her, concerning Plum. How she hadn't been brave enough to stand next to Plum in public. Was this what Cassie was doing herself? Was she holding back from Cameron because she was scared of what other people would think? What the media would say? Was it this that was holding the sculpture back?

She frowned slightly as she considered this. But, no, there was more to this situation than that. For a start, there was something Cameron wasn't telling her about the sculpture. She knew it. She felt it. Though maybe it was this? That she should let go? Do what she felt?

God, it was all so confusing.

“Everything all right?” Cameron came at her from the side, catching Cassie completely unaware, his thumb gently erasing the creases on her forehead. She closed her eyes involuntarily, letting herself to succumb to his touch, which she'd been thinking about for what seemed like so long.

When she opened her eyes again, she remembered he had asked her a question. “Fine,” she said. “I'm fine.”

Releasing his thumb, Cameron watched her closely. And, as he did, Cassie remembered Jo again, and urged herself onward.

“What would you do,” Cassie started, quietly, so that no one else in the room would hear, “if I told everyone in the room to leave, so it was just you and me?”.

“I'd tell them to get the hell out,” Cameron said, his expression unreadable.

“And then what if I took my clothes off?”

His eyebrows raised only slightly in surprise. “I'd tell you to put them back on again.”

“What? Why?” Cassie asked. Had she been wrong again? If only she could read him. If only she knew what it was he wanted. What he needed. Or what she did.

“Because I don't think you really want to do that,” Cameron answered. “I think you think
I
want you to do that. And while I'd like nothing more than to spend the rest of the day taking each item of your clothes off extremely slowly, that isn't how this works.”

“I thought it worked how I said it worked?” Cassie tilted her head up, argumentatively.

“Only if I believe what you say.”

“So if I asked you to take me up to your apartment right now and screw me senseless, you wouldn't do that?”

Cameron stood up from his haunches now, and offered Cassie a hand. “Let's go.”

Confused, she suddenly faltered.

Cameron smirked. “I didn't think so. You'll have to convince me better than that. And when you do, trust me, I'll be more than happy to oblige.”

Cassie watched on, having no idea what to think. “There's something you're not telling me,” she finally said.

But Cameron just waved her concerns away, reaching out to readjust her hair for the thousandth time. “There are a million things I'm not telling you every single day. And at least half of them involve us screwing each other senseless, as you just mentioned. So, any other questions?”

“No.”

“Fine, then. Back to work . . .”

C
assie dedicated almost the entire next twenty-four hours to trying not to blush madly as she continually went over both the conversation she'd had with Cameron, and what had passed between her and James. She realised now she'd been completely and utterly pent-up—sexually frustrated after all the time she'd spent with Cameron. Had it been wrong of her to take that out on James? He hadn't seemed to mind. And she
did
like him. A lot. It wasn't like she'd been thinking about Cameron in the heat of the moment. Had she?

Still, there was no denying she'd acted something like a bitch in heat, and the thought of this made her cringe every time. She wasn't sure if it would be better to never see James again, or if he'd even want to see her. Though, she found that when he did call her on Sunday to see if they could catch up Wednesday afternoon, a wave of relief washed over her. Still, she spent the entire phone call wanting to blurt out some sort of apology . . .