Leaning forward Cameron kissed Tracy once, gently, on the lips.
She didn’t kiss him back. But she didn’t stop him either.
This is not supposed to happen. This cannot happen.
When she opened her eyes, Cameron was smiling at her.
“How about that dinner you promised me?”
THEY STAYED IN.
Cameron’s private chef had gone home for the night, but to Tracy’s surprise he whipped up a passable spaghetti supper for the two of them.
“I’d never have pegged you as the domestic type,” Tracy said.
Cameron noticed she was wolfing down her pasta as if she hadn’t eaten in days. For such a tiny person, she ate like a horse.
“When you’re divorced, you learn.” He poured them both more wine. “I’m not the next Jamie Oliver, but I can get by.”
They ate at the kitchen counter. Tracy had assumed they’d talk more about Group 99 and what she’d found in General Dorrien’s house, but in fact the conversation quickly turned to more personal matters. It was strange how easily things flowed between them. This was only the second evening Tracy had spent in Cameron’s company, but even before the kiss, an intimacy had been established between them that belied their short acquaintance.
Maybe it’s the shared grief, Tracy thought. Or maybe it’s the fact that I trust him. That we trust each other.
Trust was a commodity in increasingly short supply in Tracy’s world. She suspected the same was true for Cameron. He was so laid-back, it was easy to forget that he was worth billions of dollars. That fact alone would have earned him scores of enemies, and even more false friends.
Or maybe I’m kidding myself. Maybe this is nothing more than straightforward sexual attraction.
Certainly there could be no denying the chemistry between them. Tracy had felt it the moment she walked in to the apartment. She’d felt it again when they sat at the computer desk together. When they kissed. And just now, watching Cameron at the stove. Sex could make old friends of total strangers. It could also seriously cloud judgment.
“What?” Cameron was looking at her oddly. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Tracy stared down at her spaghetti.
“It’s not nothing. Your face just changed. You’re feeling guilty, aren’t you?”
“Why would I be feeling guilty?” Tracy tried not to show how unnerved she felt. Cameron shouldn’t be able to read her like this.
“Because you’re happy. Even though Nick is dead.”
It wasn’t said unkindly. Quite the opposite in fact. But it was too much for Tracy. Tears swam in her eyes.
Cameron reached over and took her hand in his, just as he had back in Geneva at the restaurant. But this time Tracy didn’t snatch it away.
“Being happy is not betraying your son,” Cameron told her. “At least, if it is, then we’re both guilty.”
He squeezed her hand. Tracy squeezed back.
They didn’t need words.
AFTER DINNER THEY SAT together in Cameron’s living room, sipping Cognac in front of a vast baronial fireplace.
Out of nowhere, Cameron said, “I think you should show Walton the pictures.”
Tracy’s eyes widened. “What? Why?”
“Two reasons. One, because as long as you’re in possession of that hard drive, your life is probably in danger.”
Tracy didn’t argue.