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after the decimal point. Cammie was used to looking perfect, and she wasn’t about to settle for anything less.
    The question, though, was did Adam think she looked perfect? She knew they had chemistry; she could feel the sexual tension. But Adam wasn’t acting on it. And it was driving her crazy.
    “I had some seafood gazpacho. Awesome.” He patted his taut stomach.
    “Glad to hear it.” She wondered what it would be like to run her fingernails up and down those abs. Right here on the deck at Geoffrey’s.
    He put both elbows on the railing that separated them from the long drop to the beach below and scratched his chin. “Something bothering you, Cam?”
    Yes. Every guy drools after me but you.
    “No.” She shook her strawberry blond curls off her face. To her right, she caught a glimpse of an actor from
Hermosa Beach.
He was eyeing her with obvious interest. But she couldn’t care less. All her attention was on Adam. “Why?”
    He shrugged. “You don’t seem like yourself.”
    Cammie did a rapid-fire mental inventory of the reasons why she should seem exactly like herself. Last time she checked, she had fantastic reddish blond curls cascading down her back and a fantastic body with the best breasts money could buy. She was easily the hottest girl at Beverly Hills High School, an institution that overflowed with hot girls. And she had one of the most feared fathers in Hollywood—Clark Sheppard, a powerful entertainment agent at Apex.
    She also had the trendiest clothes by the hottest designers. Tonight she was wearing an Alexander McQueen black chiffon wrap dress with a black ribbon tie at the waist. By next week, some suck-up starlet wannabe like Lindsay Lohan would be photographed in the exact same dress. America might ooh and ahh at the pictures in
Us
and
Star,
but real insiders would know that Cammie had worn it before it was even available in stores. And that it looked a lot better on her, too.
    She could get any guy she wanted, anywhere, anyplace, anytime. So why the hell did she have to want
this
guy?
    “Something
is
on your mind, Cammie.” Adam’s soft voice interrupted her thoughts.
    “Maybe.” She cleared her throat and tried to sound nonchalant. “Tell me . . . have you ever been in love?”
    She immediately wanted to bitch-slap herself for sounding so needy. Cammie Sheppard didn’t
do
needy.
    He scratched the stubble on his chin again. “Maybe. You?”
    “I don’t know. I wonder—if there was no such thing as love, would they have to invent it for the movies?”
    Adam grinned; Cammie felt pleased that she’d been able to divert the conversation away from such dangerous turf as her feelings. She took a long sip of her Coke, pushed more curls off her face, and edged closer to the railing. The deck was getting crowded—a DJ had started spinning records, and the beautiful people were drifting outside to dance. Standing gas lamps had been fired up so that the temperature stayed comfortable, and tuxedo-clad waiters circulated around the deck offering snifters of brandy and Belgian dessert beer. Meanwhile, laser light beams danced against the side of the restaurant and over the crowd on the deck.
    “I definitely believe in love,” Adam mused aloud, raising his voice over the pounding music. “I mean, take my parents. They’re still in love.”
    Cammie raised her eyebrows dubiously. “Please. Next you’re going to tell me they’ve never cheated on each other.”
    “Well, it’s not like they’d tell me. But if you love someone, really love them, why would you ever do something like that?”
    Cammie could see that Adam meant what he said. His innocence was so un–Los Angeles that it touched her. “You really need to move out of Beverly Hills.”
    “Oh yeah? Why?”
    “Because if you stay too long, you’ll become as jaded as the rest of us.”
    A gust of sea breeze washed over them; Adam gently pushed some hair from Cammie’s cheek. “You’re full of it.”
    “Which