“Well, that’s a good point. Okay, I’d better get in the shower. He’ll be here in about thirty.”

“Thirty minutes?” she asks, clearly horrified. “Mags, you should be doing your makeup right now.”

“He said it’s not fancy!” I hate wearing makeup. I’m not the girly girl that my sister and sisters-in-law are. “Why do I need makeup?”

Maeve sighs heavily. “At least wear some mascara and a little nude lip gloss. You’re lucky that you have such wonderful skin so you can do the bare minimum and look great.”

“Fine. Anything else?”

“Have fun. Call me tomorrow.”

“Okay. Thanks. Bye.”

I hang up and walk through the house to my master suite, stripping on my way there. If I have to put on a little makeup, I’d best get a move on.

I stow away my recording tools, which means that I shove it all in the closet and get busy taking the fastest shower on record, then quickly dress, changing my shirt not once, not twice, but thrice, and then get to work on my hair and makeup.

The doorbell rings just as I return to the living room.

The look on Cam’s face when I open the door is totally worth the time I spent with the makeup and blow-dryer.

His blue eyes travel up and down my body, and when he pins me with his gaze, my knees go weak.

“Holy shit, you’re gorgeous,” he breathes. My breath catches, and before I can step back, he cups my face in his hands and brushes his lips over mine in the sweetest, most tender kiss I’ve ever had.

“Whoa.”

He grins against me. “Yeah. Whoa. We should probably go catch the ferry.”

I blink, trying to make sense of the words, but my head is still spinning from the potency that is Cam.

“Mags?”

“Yeah? Oh, right. The ferry.”

I grab my bag and sling it across my body, then wrap myself in my jacket and follow Cameron to his car.

He’s in jeans that mold perfectly to his ass. His button-down is a shade of blue barely lighter than his eyes, and he’s wearing the black leather jacket that’s always made my girl parts sit up and take notice.

Cameron is a deliciously handsome man.

He opens the door for me and presses his hand to my back, guiding me into the car. I love how he touches me. As if it’s the most natural thing in the world—as easy as breathing.

Joey never touched me. By the time he died, we hadn’t had sex in over a year. And that was fine by me because whenever he did want to get laid, he’d just do it. No foreplay. No fun.

I mean, what’s the damn point?

And that’s the last time I’ll compare Cam to Joey. They’re not the same men, not at all.