Page 66 of All the Drama from New York

Not yet. Give it time.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Keeping up a ready supply of fresh milk atTrade Windsfor Camille’s never ending need for coffee was a responsibility Ryan took very seriously. Each morning, after they’d tangled in the sheets, they would shower together. Then while Camille was getting dressed, Ryan would slip on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, and head down to the local mini mart.

Standing barefoot in the queue waiting to be served this morning, he noticed there were more people milling about the place than usual at this hour of the day. After checking his phone, the penny dropped. It was Saturday. The NYC weekend crowd had arrived.

It was weird how only a few days away from the city had conditioned him to the peace and quiet of the island.

All these people means that the beach will be busy this afternoon.

That put paid to any notion of him and Camille having a private picnic on the sand as he’d been hoping they would.

A movement out of the corner of his eye caught Ryans’ attention. A yard or so away from him a young woman was holding up her cell phone and snapping off a few pictures. Heglanced at her, then turned and looked over his shoulder to the wall. The mini mart had a ton of posters and cards for local businesses plastered on the space next to the cash register.

Was she taking a photo of the crowd in the store? Maybe she was trying to get the details of one of the local charter boat services.

Yeah. That has to be what she was taking a picture of, not the people in the queue. And certainly not me.

He’d stopped being newsworthy long ago.

The line of customers moved forward, and so did the young woman. When Ryan looked at her once more, their gazes actually met. She offered him a knowing grin, then quickly stepped away. Just as she reached the front door, the stranger stopped and turned back to face him.

She raised her phone once more, making no effort to hide the fact that it was pointed directly at him. As she began to snap off even more pictures, Ryan lowered his head and swore softly under his breath.

He couldn’t recall the last time anyone had recognized him in public. It had to have been at least a year ago.

No, make that two years.

Ok. Just let it go.

If she had recognized him from the show, what was the worst the woman could do? Tell her friends that she had seen the guy who lost out onBachelors on the Beach?

Ryan shrugged and placed his carton of milk on the counter in front of the cashier. No one cared about a has-been from an old reality tv show.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

“Merde!” cried Camille. She’d pricked herself for the third time while trying to pin the muslin to her dressmakers model. When Ryan didn’t so much as flinch at her cursing, she turned to him. “I never hit myself with the needles or pins. This is all your fault. You are too much of a distraction.”

He raised an eyebrow. “As I recall, Ms. Royal, you were the one who instigated the last two sessions of hot and heavy sex. So I don’t know how you can call me the source of your distraction.”

“Oh,” she huffed, knowing full well he was right.

They’d spent most of the morning laying the pieces of the new cocktail dress she’d designed on the model then making small adjustments when it didn’t hang exactly to her satisfaction.

But each time he’d suggested a coffee break, Camille had taken one look at that gorgeous ass of his and begged Ryan to bend her over the other end of the table and do wicked things to her. Being the ever efficient PA that he was, Ryan had complied with her request. He was fast gaining an understanding of what Camille liked, and was able to bring her to a knee trembling orgasm within minutes.

Outside of the bedroom, Camille could admit to loving a hard and fast encounter. It set her blood racing.

The third time Ryan had suggested a break, the selfish beast had gently batted her greedy hand away and actually gone and made them coffee.

That’s what’s causing me to stab myself with sewing pins. He doesn’t understand how much being around him scrambles my brain.

The sensitive flesh at the apex of her thighs was doing far too much of the thinking right now.

“Do we have an idea of the fabric for this new dress?” asked Ryan. The way he tapped his pen so thoughtfully on top of his notepad made Camille reluctantly grateful that at least one of them was thinking about the fashion show.

She took a step back from the model and studied her latest creation. “The best fabric supplier I know is in Paris, and they would have the perfect silk for this cocktail dress. I could just get on a plane and go get some. What do you think?”

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