Page 25 of The Billionaire's Proposal

“I had a raging hard on during our board meeting this morning and had to hand off the presentation to my brother so I could take care of it.”

I press the brake so hard, my head hits the steering wheel, and the phone rockets from the console, landing on the floorboard.

“Cameron. Cameron, what happened?”

Fumbling around, I find it and bring it to my ear. “You’re going to be the death of me.” I laugh before my words register to me. Open mouth, insert foot. “I mean I’ve been thinking about you too.”

His tone changes slightly. “Good to know.”

The day drags on longer than a turtle in a 5k—which hasn’t ended. And today’s excursions were uneventful, lacking a certain billionaire. I was hoping I would hear from him again, but it’s quitting time and not a word.

“Cami?” Orlando calls out.

“Up here.”

“I just… just wanted to say I like it when you’re happy.”

He doesn’t prod me for information. “Me too even if it was just one night.”

Sometimes our relationship is more like mother/son and others like siblings. Right now, it feels like I’m a parent and can’t say anything more. As always, he gives me a hug and a kiss on the cheek before he leaves for the night. He’s dating a lifeguard from his apartment complex and is anxious to get home.

I sit in the captain’s chair, unbutton my shorts, and slip my hand underneath my panties. Memories of Winslow’s touch playing on repeat in my head. I take out my phone and snap a picture of only my fingers under the lace to show Winslow how much I’m thinking of him.

I’ll sit wherever you want tonight. Winky face and press send.

Winslow didn’t commit to anything other than last night, and I hope he’s feeling the same as me. I want more of him. The sex and the intimacy that comes from getting to know each other.

I apply pressure to my bundle of nerves, circling and remembering Winslow’s searing touch. When I finish myself off, it’s a far cry from the orgasms Winslow gifted me, but it’s enough to take the edge off.

A few minutes later, he responds,

Who is this? Because I am in! double winky face.

Is he playing hard to get? Because that’s my fucking job. But then I think, what if someone else has Winslow’s phone?

I don’t respond and haul my ass to the office to work on some advertisements I’m running for the annual Hibiscus Festival. Once I’m there, I turn on the television for noise and create my social media ads. These companies keep making it harder to reach your target audience by saying the algorithm will do it for you. Yeah right, the last two ads have flopped, so I’m trying to find a way around their system to create an ad that works.

Then I hear the words boat captain, so I spin my office chair around to find the remote and rewind. “Last week, I said Winslow Worthington met his match, and we all saw the fireworks. Well, he came back for another attempt to make nice with the boat captain. Watch.”

The camera focuses on when he’s helping Elena reel the fish in. And that’s when I see the sadness in his eyes. Elena reminding him of his former fiancée.

Then the footage switches to several still images of us rotating. How he’s looking at me and me at him. Eating dinner on a blanket on deck seems even more personal than when I see it. Somehow different from what was captured with Margie or Emory, and, obviously, the cameramen noticed and zoned in on it.

The host continues, “But I’m burying the lead. Boat Captain Cameron Darling refuses Mr. Worthington’s offer of one million dollars. Instead, she will risk the money for the possibility of ten million. Is she crazy? Stay tuned next week to see if she wins ten million dollars.” The host creates anticipation with her tone of voice alone.

Hell, now, I’m wondering whether I’ll win or not. It’s honestly the first time I’ve thought of it since then. I’ve been a little preoccupied thinking about Winslow’s hard body and the way he shattered every orgasmic record I held.

I check my phone, wondering why Winslow hasn’t replied, and embarrassment creeps in.

Is this Winslow’s number?

Yeah, baby, where do you want to sit?

Chapter Fourteen

WINSLOW

Giddy like a teenage boy, I arrive at her house late in the evening with a bouquet in hand.

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